Drag
by amyblair
Summary: Set in late Season 2. The brothers are following one of Sam's visions which leads them on the path of a mythical creature which they have only read about in fairy tales. Dean's spinning, Sam's not far behind and it all begins with a hot pink feather.
1. Chapter 1

**Drag**

**Disclaimer: **Don't own them. Not for Profit Organization here…

**Timeframe:** Takes place in later Season Two, somewhere after 'Heart' but before 'Folsom Prison Blues'.

**Author's note:** This story will be completed in 10 chapters plus an epilogue. I have it pretty much completed, just a few tweaks here and there. I will post a new chapter every two days. It has been almost a year since I've posted anything and well over a year since I've posted a chapter fic. It's been a long year at my house. Anyone else feel that way?

And my deepest thanks to **MAZ101**, my lovely beta, who has read one chapter every month since about November. And has sometimes had to reread a couple. Thanks for sticking with me, Dollface. Oh, and I've tweaked it here and there, all mistakes are mine.

**Chapter One: Vision in Sparkles**

_Sometimes, he still dreams of Jess._

_Wrapped sleek and shiny in silk and satin, blonde curls falling towards him. Red and orange flames hugging her in close as Sam feels himself falling away. Her face stunned at what is happening around her; what is happening to her. Sam can see her mouth twitch, a curse, maybe, or a last request. He's never able to decipher it._

_Sometimes, he dreams of Dad. _

_He hovers over him, gun melded into his hand, pointed down – pointed at Dad – square on his chest and Dad's screaming at him to pull the trigger. Begging and pleading and Sam's wavering because he can hear Dean, too. Somewhere behind him, asking him to wait. Begging and pleading in his own quiet way. He knows the final outcome. Reality vs. Fantasy. But sometimes, in his dreams, he pulls that trigger. Watches as his dad's blood runs from his body just as the flames lick Jess's face. _

_Sometimes he dreams of Sam. _

_He sees himself being summoned, requested… no, challenged to meet up with… he isn't quite sure. He can't see that far but he can feel the fear stack itself like bricks against him. It's open, this place – a building, perhaps – surrounded by a kind of field, and there's something in front of him; something that isn't man nor beast. But it's big and it bends down to get a good look at him, to breath hot on Sam's face and all he can see is red. He feels a weight heavy in his right hand and looks down to see he is holding a knife. And when he looks up again, he sees Jess. Or maybe it's Mom. Because, really, in the end, there is just no escaping any of it._

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There had been a small portion of this last year where Dean could sleep peacefully, didn't have to worry about Sam waking up with nightmares, beads of sweat coating his forehead, names shouted in desperation, arms flailing wildly. Or worse, waking up to find that his brother hadn't slept at all.

Yep, that window had been pretty small. Until it cracked and shattered. Dad dying, Sam's secret outed, the killing of Madison, old Yellow Eyes and his undercover plans, Sam making Dean promise him to… He took a breath. No need to knock on that door. Hell, he thought, maybe that window hadn't shattered after all. Maybe someone had just slammed it shut.

Dean opened his eyes that morning to the sun streaming into the motel room from behind cheap plastic shades. Sam was already sitting up, the morning newspaper in his hand, coffee brewing, eyes glossy and swollen.

"Hey." Newspaper folded.

"Hey." Lips smacked together. Tongue dry as Southern Egypt. Could taste it, even. Sandy and course. Morning breath.

Last night had been hard. It started with something as tiny as a murmur. Of course, they were the tiny murmurs from Dean's brother. Murmurs that quickly changed to moans and then transformed to sounds that could be considered cries of distress. Dean knew what was coming next, but hoped Sam would take the easy road and skip it. Just wake up in a sweaty mess where Dean could pretend to sleep through all of it.

But Sam didn't do anything easy.

The first scream was more like a bark. The following screams were like Sam was watching a marathon of the Friday Night Horror Show. Which, in comparison, was probably not far off. Dean figured they'd probably both darted off their beds at the same time, Sam trying to catch his breath, Dean trying to catch Sam, neither being successful at either. Sam ended up on the floor panting, Dean a few feet away, watching Sam as though if he stared hard enough, his eyes would be able to reach out and make it all better.

Sam's air hitched and he gasped; shallow in, shaky out. Finally, a large hand reached up and grabbed hold of the flimsy mattress as he pulled, hoisting himself back on the bed. He didn't look at Dean, didn't even acknowledge him, just clumsily found his blankets, covered himself up as best as he could and flopped back down on his pillow.

Dean sat for a few minutes, listening, letting his ears reach out this time. He heard his brother's breathing slow until Sam turned to his side, cold shoulder in place, and Dean found that he could finally find his own footing and push himself off the floor. He went to the bathroom and back again. Stalled at the end of Sam's bed, just to be sure he was sleeping, and then retreated to his own.

It almost pissed him off more than it concerned him. These nightmares, this silent treatment. It wasn't as if Dean hadn't lost anyone, either. He was fully aware of the amount of loss Sam had experienced. Not just Dad. But Jess. And now Madison. And he knew the revelation that a demon – no, _the_ demon – had special ties to Sam. _Well, dammit…_ Dean pulled the covers up to his chin, tucked himself in. Damn Sam if he thought he had to do this all on his own. Dean lay there, looking up at the nothingness above him. The not knowing was the hardest to endure. All the cryptic messages the hardest to look past. Living like this, on the edge, with just him and Sam felt toxic sometimes. Like no matter what choice they made, it was all going to blow up anyway.

And he felt unguarded then. Abandoned and orphaned. Wondered what it was going to take for either of them to feel like they weren't going it alone.

And took back all the bad things he'd just thought of Sam.

So when Dean awoke, groggy and still craving sleep, Sam sitting like the living dead, the words, "Let's go." wasn't exactly what Dean had on the menu. Shit, they hadn't even eaten breakfast yet.

"Sam, what the hell?" Dean barked, sitting up, only to find that Sam had already packed their bags and they sat waiting on Dean, along with his brother and a clean set of clothes, which, oddly enough, had been laid out in a motherly way.

Dean blinked. "Where we goin'?" he asked because it seemed like the next appropriate question.

An exaggerated shrug was the reply followed by a set of too-tired eyes that said it all: _Don't fuck with me, man_. And Sam's mouth quirked into a small smile. "East."

It rang too familiar as of late. Sam having the vision of Jenny and her kids, causing them to return back to Lawrence. Then Max Miller and his brains being blown all over his stepmother's wall. And Andy and his psychic crap that twisted and bent until good led to an evil twin and Andy using a bullet to stop his brother from killing them all.

"Vision?" he inquired and Sam lifted his eyebrows back. Dean pulled on a sock. Woody fucking Woodpecker embroidered on the side. Could always hear his laugh when he put his foot inside. Thank God for the Goodwill. Loved these socks. "See much?"

A shake of the head, eyes low and away. Dean waited, but Sam wasn't offering anything more. Long pauses were one thing, but this holding everything close to the vest was another. It clawed at Dean. Scared him in ways he wasn't ready to admit yet. He'd lost his parents. His family. He wasn't going to lose Sam, too.

So, it begged the question: _What the hell had Sam seen?_

He needed coffee. A donut would be nice. Clear his head and try to figure out what demonic message Sam was getting this time. Stupid, fucking visions. Powers that didn't come with an on/off switch or instruction manual. Couldn't even do anything helpful with them anyways. Couldn't rip the clothes off hot girls or magically float beer out of convenience stores. Couldn't even spin a pen.

But the potential was there and once Sam figured that out…

Dean swallowed hard, forced down the lump of _you're not givin', I'm not givin'_ in his throat, "Okay," he agreed but wondered where this road was going to lead them. "But I'm driving. You look like Mick Jagger after pulling an all-nighter."

"That ugly?" Sam asked.

It was Dean's turn to lift an all-knowing eyebrow back at his brother.

"Thanks," Sam said, just responding now, not even bothering to listen to what it was Dean was really saying.

Dean scooted his ass to the end of the bed, hauled on his jeans, and eyeballed his keys. "Wasn't a compliment." He slipped his t-shirt on over his bare chest and grabbed a to-go cup, filled it to the rim with the motel's version of Folgers and capped it. "Which way was it again?"

"Uh," Sam stood up, body sagging like an old man against his own weight. Yeah, he had the moves like Jagger. "East."

Dean hoisted his duffel in his left hand, keys and coffee in his right. It was already late morning. Sam had given him back a few hours that he'd taken from him during the night. But wherever they were running to now apparently Sam wasn't going to tell him. He sighed. "Ladies first, dude."

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Dean stopped by the diner at the attached Inn on the way out. He grabbed a Styrofoam container with a cinnamon roll and a bagel. Pointed to the Lite Cream Cheese and then wondered if that was the proper way to spell Lite. Dismissed it because he didn't think so, but he couldn't be quite sure. He glanced behind his shoulder at Sam, who was slouched in the passenger seat, sunglasses half on, half off. Looked like he was sleeping off a major bender.

"He okay?" the lady behind the counter asked, counted the change back to him.

Dean pocketed it. She had checked them in. Mom and Pop joint. "Yeah," he breathed, knew it came out a little on the worried side.

She hesitated a moment and then ticked him a weak smile. "You boys be good."

That was an understatement. Dean wondered if she knew what they did. They had come back from their current hunt a couple of nights before, angry and loud. Sam had messed up. Missed a shot, almost gave Dean's hiding spot away and (most importantly) almost gotten Sam killed and… Dean shook his head. Reminded himself that that was two days ago and he needed to lighten up – liten up? – he smiled. Definitely lighten up – and let it go.

He started to head back out to the car, remembering that it had been about three weeks since Madison and just a few months since Dad and he had to let all of this roll off his back because Sam was playing the _I'm not talking about this because you're not talking about this_ card and Dean knew it was his fault. He opened the car door and threw the container at Sam, who caught it because he never slept. Just really effing fantastic at playing possum.

Dean turned the car east and rolled down the window. It was a beautiful day. Summer was heaving, giving away to autumn, just the perfect time of year for a scenic drive.

Dean reached over, smashed the buttons on the radio until a little Johnny Cash strutted through the speakers. His hand immediately relaxed, fell loose against his thigh. Sounded good for an early afternoon stroll through the latter half of the Midwest. Headed east.

A Boy Named Sue was hitting her stride along the airwaves. _At an old saloon on a street of mud… there at a table, dealing stud… sat the dirty, mangy dog that named me 'Sue'._

"This song ever made any sense to you?"

Sam's head turned to look at his brother. "Uh…"

"I mean, I get it," Dean picked it apart. "The dad knows he isn't going to stick around, he's going to take off and leave his family, so he names his kid Sue so that he'd have to fight and build character…" He paused purposefully, felt Sam's eyes on him now. "Why didn't his mother just change his name or just call him… I don't know… Joe or Charlie or something?"

Sam was quiet, thinking. Dean smiled inwardly. Yeah, that's right. One hundred thousand dollars in combined scholarships and unpaid student loans to create what could've been one great lawyer and he falls dumbly into his brother's trap of distraction.

"I don't know," Sam answered honestly. Like Dean was sincere. "Maybe his mother always wanted a little girl instead."

"Yeah, maybe." Dean looked out the window, watched nothing but dead cornfields pass by him. "You know when mom was pregnant with you, I remember hoping I'd get a sister."

Sam huffed at that.

"Glad I got my wish."

Tired or not, Sam still could pack a punch to the shoulder. Dean had to fight back the urge to rub at his bicep. _Son of a bitch._ The kid was all muscle. Well, muscle with a psychic conscious and a sappy heart which he tried hard not to wear on his sleeve.

"You know where we're headed?" He sighed, venturing again.

Sam shook his head.

Dean took turns watching the pavement and watching his brother. He could feel the heaviness on Sam's shoulders from across the seat. He hated this. Hated knowing that if he didn't say something, nothing would be said. Sam liked to talk the talk but he couldn't walk the walk. He'd scream at Dean until he was blue in the face to get him to talk but for Sam to open up his mouth and tell Dean how he was feeling? Hunting a nest of Vampires and decapitating them all was easier. "Sam?" he began, knew he had his brother's attention. "You alright?

It was fast, the look Sam gave Dean. A sideways glance that was so rigid, it was almost cruel.

_Shit_, Dean thought. He'd stepped in it. Only took a couple hundred miles to get there. Wasn't sure now if he wanted Sam to respond to him.

But he blinked long and slow, the harshness washing away quickly, being replaced by something depressing, but much worse. Dean swallowed. Sam looked dispirited.

"I just… I want these… god damn…visions to stop," he admitted quietly, gaze locked out the window. It was easier for Sam to talk about Sam without seeing Dean. "I want them to stop following me."

Dean hesitated. Hadn't really thought of Sam's superpowers as following him. He could hear more than the sorrow in Sam's words. He could hear the fear. "That why you're not sleeping?" Gave him a moment. "Because, you know, they've come to you while you're awake, too." Could hear Bobby Singer's voice in the back of his mind. _Gentle. Be gentle. Don't scare him off…_

"I know." It was said fast, though, and not elaborated upon and Dean knew he was already losing him. The thing was, Dean didn't know what to say to his brother anymore. Things had gotten so complicated, they had lost so much and were desperate to hold on to each other so tight that neither of them had time for psychotherapy. Sam needed to suck this up so they could move on.

"Is this about Madison?" Screw Singer. Just cut to the chase.

And that's all he needed to say. Sam's jaw worked a couple of times, teeth grinding, eyes closing and hearts pausing as Sam thrust down whatever emotion was bubbling at the surface. He released a heavy sigh, half turned to Dean and just stared. His eyes were gleaming, anger present, but harnessed and he flung an arm out.

Dean flinched.

But Sam wasn't aiming. He reached over the seat of the car and grabbed Dad's – Dean's – leather jacket and rumpled it into a ball. "Need to take a nap," he snorted.

And Dean let out a breath he didn't know he was holding onto and released his death grip on the wheel. Turned up the radio, Elton John's _The Bitch is Back_ flooded the interior. Fucking little brothers. Hoped that Sam seriously did sleep because they both needed the break.

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_He could feel hot breath on his face as he opened his eyes. He wasn't able to make out anything of substance that he could see. Only that it was large, mammoth, really, and it had a definite color surrounding it: Red. Maybe like an aura. He felt the weight in his right hand, looked down to see the knife. But even that was different now. It had gotten bigger. Hell, everything had gotten bigger. And there was blood dripping everywhere._

"_Sam!" _

_He turned to his left. It wasn't his brother's voice, although he could see Dean on the ground, looking up, pleading. And bleeding._

"_Sam." Dean's voice cracking._

_But there was another guy with him. A bigger guy. And he was holding… something. He let him get closer. "Sam!" the guy was shouting. He was enormous, muscular, dark skinned, and he was holding… a bright, pink… feather?_

_Sam heard a huff directly in his ear, felt the knife heavy in his hand. _

_Then Dean. "Sam, don't you do it." And Sam felt something stab him fiercely in the stomach and he was falling and everything engulfed his vision in red. _

He awoke so fast that all he had time to do was take a breath before he felt a hand on his back. He had turned away from the driver's side view and had pressed his body up against the door, cheek against the glass, the coolness from the outside teasing him to wake up. He just needed a minute. His eyes were screwed tight, visions of a dead girlfriend morphed into another girl dead from a silver bullet dancing in front of him like sugarplums. Smiles and sighs and breasts and thighs. He had to force it all back down, tuck it away someplace deep enough where Dean wouldn't see when he turned around.

"You want some coffee?" Sounded like it was right next to his ear and Sam kept his eyes closed for a few more heartbeats, tried to forget that just a dream ago, he had been engulfed in blood. His own blood.

"We still going east?" Sam asked, turning his body half way around. Saw a road sign zip past for someplace in Cleveland. Yeah, they were still going east.

"Yup," Dean answered unnecessarily. Concerned, really. All the goddamn concern.

Sam sat upright, scrubbed a hand down his face. Let himself breathe in the stale perfumes of musk and grease. Of Dean and Dad. Sam slouched in the passenger seat, watched as advertisements for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame reflected off the window. Thought it would be nice to go. Take Dean. Let him walk around the building in wonder. Put earbuds in and select Buddy Holly or Led Zeppelin. See Janis Joplin's Mercedes Benz. Look at ZZ Top's 1980's wardrobe collection. Buy a cheesy keychain from the gift shop.

But there wasn't any time. There never was. And going to the museum would've been something Dean and Dad would have liked to do. Sam wasn't much into bringing Dad's name or memory up. Wasn't sure where Dean was in his process. Stupid son of a bitch wouldn't let him in that far. Arm's distance. Everything was always at an arm's distance.

Dean had already dropped his hand from his back. Returned it to the comfort of the steering wheel. Sam caught him reading the road signs. Wondered what Dean was wondering as he checked the lowering sun on the horizon. Damn, he'd slept at least six hours. Sure as shit didn't feel like it.

"I'm sorry," Sam blurted out. Didn't mean it to be so… pathetic. Cleared his throat, pressed the heel of his foot into the floorboard for support. "I'm sorry about last night. I know I woke you up."

He saw his brother grip the wheel tighter, watched his jaw clench and unclench and finally he released a heated, "Sam…"

"I'm sorry." Said it this time with meaning. Not so pathetic, but more genuine. Because Dean was still hurting. And so was Sam and neither of them was dealing well with this bumper-to-bumper non-verbal traffic jam they had been using as a way to communicate with each other.

In other words, they were just fucking stuck.

They were close to exiting through the tail end of Cleveland, all the tell-tell signs alerting them to _Stop Now_ because it would be 50 miles until their next chance for gas. Coffee. Food. All of which they needed and Dean flicked on the blinker, took the last exit. Sam watched as the billboards gave way to a few trees and he was seeing more fields than buildings.

"Where the hell's the gas station?" Sam inquired, which got a pissed off response from Dean. He looked down at his wristwatch. It was after 7pm. They'd missed dinner and Sam had missed lunch – Dean most likely, too. Sam's stomach was calling out to let him know it was angry and hungry. He shifted in his seat, tried to stretch his cramped legs. Sighed heavily because all this driving only made him realize that right at that moment, he missed his home with Jess. Or just missed a home.

A dog suddenly ran out in front of the road. Dean slammed on the brakes, forcing Sam to brace his weight with his right hand, fingers clutched into the dashboard as everything slowed quickly. Sam could see the brown and white flash in front of them, barking its head off, and race over to a distant sign – another fucking billboard – telling weary travelers to kick their boots off and come down the road a couple more miles.

Apparently there was one of Cleveland's finest strip joints dead ahead. The sign was plastered with a life-size woman dressed in a tight, glittery corset, fishnet legs that led to red sparkly shoes. Sitting on her head of blonde curls, she wore a hat. Feathers of every color erupting from the top. She clenched one single, bright, pink, fuzzy feather tight in her teeth. Next to that was a thought bubble that scantly read: "Grrrrr"

"Holy shit." Sam heard Dean breathe.

Sam stilled, blinked for a moment at the hideous sign. It really was a sight for sore eyes. The photo was too big for the billboard so it caused the model's features to blur. She was apparently supposed to resemble somebody – Marilyn Monroe, maybe – but she looked more like Anna Nicole after a really, really bad binge. The words were all in a different font, making it hard to read, and that damn dog kept barking at it, like the sign had kicked it. Or stolen its bone.

Sam zeroed in on the pink feather. "Go," he ordered. Okay, it was a flimsy whisper of an order, but still.

"What?" Dean asked and Sam glanced over. Dean was focused on the billboard. Or the woman gracing it. Well, this should make his day.

Sam pointed a long finger straight ahead. "We're going."

"Where?" Dean's eyes twinkled.

Sam eyed the billboard, couldn't help but notice the feather again, and then with more confidence. "There."

Dean frowned at him. Immediate suspicion. "You mean," and he had to say it to make it true, "your freaky visions have landed us a gig at a strip club?"

Sam chuckled half-heartedly as Dean hit the gas. "I guess so," he said, letting the Impala drag them to what was beyond the advertisement, leaving the woman and the dog behind to hash out their differences. He took in a shaky breath and held it, remembering the heat from his vision, knowing that it belonged to something of immense mass. A dark beast, perhaps. Or maybe an enormous man. Whatever it was… Sam swallowed, glanced over at his brother. Dean drove down the road, a smile slanted across his face said it all: _Naked women. _

_Shit's gonna hit the fan_, Sam thought as he looked back out the window. Because Dean was going to go ballistic when he found out that this wasn't a vision of Sam and Dean racing to the rescue and saving someone from a horrible death. Nope. Sam was pretty sure when he dreamed, it didn't have anything to do with dead girlfriends at all. He was dreaming of his own death.

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The parking lot was already packed when they pulled up and people had resorted to park in a nearby wheat field. At least eighty cars in the front and Dean noticed there were a few more nestled away in the back. The place was pretty big, kind of stood out like a sore thumb out in the middle of nowhere. Definitely a place one would have to know about and seek out, not a place anyone would just normally stumble upon.

They got out and walked in tandem to the door. Passed a couple of guys walking away from the club, exchanged friendly hellos. The outside was covered in concrete, the only windows high above the ground, a very discreet look to it, with the exception of the hot pink sign running from the roof to the door announcing that the club's name was "Knucker".

Dean nudged him. "Knucker. You know, rhymes with –"

"You smell that?" Sam interrupted as they walked up the two steps to the door.

Dean inhaled. Plain old air. Had a country vibe to it out this far, though. "No. You smell something?" he asked because if he didn't Sam wouldn't offer anything on his own. Sam was just off. Too much loss will do that to a person.

"I don't know." Sam sniffed again. "Kind of smells bad. Like something decaying."

"Probably a ton of raccoons and field mice out there," Dean commented. Then, knowing this was Sammy and that he had once again lead them here just by his 6th sense alone, reluctantly he added, "Want to, you know, go check it out?" Hoped his lousy brother would decline because they were right on the doorstep to a warehouse full of strippers.

But Sam was already turning back around. "No, the scent's not that strong. May be a little ways off. Let's just get a look at the inside."

They opened the double doors, took a step in and immediately Dean could feel the base of the music against his ribs. _Whump-Whump_. It was so loud. _Boom-Boom_. It was hard to catch his breath. Hard to tell where the drum solo ended and his heartbeat began.

Sam started walking through a maze of people, though. So Dean followed. There were people _everywhere_. Dudes standing, drinking beers, girls sitting on their laps, taking sips afterwards. Some were on dates, others were mingling, some were girls from the club, pleasing their customers. Lap dances and dollar bills being strapped in places Dean couldn't wait to touch.

_This is awesome_, he thought as they tramped up to the bar. Sam ordered a water and a Blue Moon, Dean knew exactly what was for him and what was for Sam. Sometimes the kid was a good brother. They got their drinks and leaned against the polished wood of the bar, taking in the rest of the place.

This had to be one of the flashiest strip clubs Dean had ever been in. Everything was over the top. There was a stage toward the front of the building, which currently housed a half dozen dancing girls on it. But they weren't clothed in bras and underwear – they were dressed in glittery dresses, every color of the rainbow, feathers coming out the hats on their heads, beads on their arms, high-heeled boots, and legs that went on forever. Able to wrap around a decent sized fella a couple of times.

"Look," Dean elbowed his brother, quietly gesturing to a tall girl walking by dressed like Madonna from the '90's with a pointed bra covering her boobs and her hair rolled into a tight bun that cascaded blonde strands off the back.

There was a disco ball twirling high above the stage, spotlights dancing merrily to the hum of the music. Dean pointed out Marilyn Monroe and Cher and kind of grimaced when he noticed Judy Garland's daughter walk by (could never remember her name) and for some odd reason, Joan Rivers. He wasn't too sure what was sexy about either of them.

But then the lights dimmed low and the crowd released a deafening roar. There was a few seconds of hands clapping and feet stomping, whistles piercing the air before the announcer's voice echoed over it all: "You want her?"

The crowd went wild. The bartender went wild. Hell, Madonna went wild. They all started chanting one name: "EVA! EVA! EVA!"

And for one split second, Dean found himself go wild. He whistled and applauded and his mind could only think of one thing: Eva Longoria.

Sammy was the best brother in the world. He was also eying him like he had gone crazy so Dean returned the look.

"What are you doing?" Sam yelled over the mantra.

Dean leaned closer. "Enjoying the moment!" Because sooner or later Sam would remind him they were there on a job and if they didn't concentrate on the task at hand, all these lively lovely ladies could become dead lovely ladies.

"Dean," Sam started, "You know this –"

But he was cut off as the announcer laughed at the standing crowd. "Back after such heartbreak…" the crowd quieted, gave sympathetic _Aw's_… "But stronger than ever…" Hoots and hollers commenced. "So, without further ado, here she is: the unstoppable, the immeasurable… EVA DESTRUCTION!"

Velvet purple curtains lined with a shimmering pink ribbon smoothly pulled to the sides as one perfect spotlight landed on the center of the stage. The sound of a piano plucked a familiar tune and as the lights turned up, Dean found the perfect hole where he could see over the bar patrons' heads. There she was, a vision in sparkles, the rhinestones on her white dress catching every beam that was pointed at her. She strolled her way down the runway, dark skin basking in the light, her black curly hair almost resembling a shadowy halo behind her.

Dean raised his beer to his lips when she stopped. Her chocolate eyes scanned the room and she eyed him from where she was, smiled sweetly and Dean couldn't help but let a small grin pass. He took a drink as she put the microphone up to her mouth and in one breath her powerful voice brought the audience screaming again: "First, I was afraid. I was petrified. Kept thinking I could never live without you by my side."

Dean felt the flow of the beer skid to a halt in his throat.

Eva Destruction took a few steps down a couple of stairs and was unexpectedly standing amongst the audience. They were going fucking nuts. But she parted the crowd and started to walk. "But I spent so many nights, thinking how you did me wrong. And I grew strong…" flexed her heavyweight muscles. "I learned how to carry on…"

Dean felt his heart plummet to his stomach, bounce there like a basketball, and then spring back to his chest. He swallowed down the stuck beer and stood gaping at the large woman walking to him. He sized her up quickly. She was taller than Sam by a good two inches.

"And so you're back! From outer space!" The music changed up, a whimsical revenged- beat to it, as the audience became even louder. "I just walked in to find you here with that sad look upon your face!"

If he could have taken off right then, he would have. Would've bolted. But Dean could feel Sam still next to him and he chanced a look, only to find that Sam was staring at Eva with a recognition on his face and Dean understood that Sam had seen her before. Whatever had led them to this place in the middle of nowhere outside of Cleveland, this… stripper was part of the key.

"I should have changed my stupid lock. I should have made you leave your key. If I had known for just one second, you'd be back to bother me…"

Wait. Dean blinked. He knew this song. His eyes skated the room again, this time slowing things down. Not missing anything. The open mouths of the customers, the drinks they were holding. He had a beer. The dude to his right had some kind of lemonade drink with one of those fancy umbrellas in it. The lady to his left – no, it wasn't a lady, it was a guy – he had a drink with fruit and whipped cream. He recognized Madonna and her tight leotard. Joan Rivers, for whatever reason wasn't far off, and Judy Garland's daughter – what was her name? Was standing next to… Diana Ross?

And then Eva was right in front of him, a large hand over Dean's head, manicured red nails resting on the back of his neck pulling him toward her seductively as she belted, "Did you think I'd crumble? Did you think I'd lay down and die?"

Up close and personal, Dean could see the make-up coating her eyes, her cheeks ruddy from too much rouge, the creases of her smile outlined by cakey-powder of a thickly applied base foundation. Under it all, he could see signs of stubble.

He wasn't going to run. He was going to throw up. _Breathe_, Dean counseled himself.

"Oh no, not I! I will survive! As long as I know how to love, I know I will stay alive! I've got all my life to live, I've got all my love to give and I'll survive! I will survive!" and the entire audience chimed in with an excited, "HEY! HEY!"

Eva let Dean go with a hefty clap on his shoulder, paused to lift plucked brows to Sam's stony face and abruptly turned to her fans, the crowd going berserk in her presence. Men screamed like little girls. Women shrieked with delight. Sequins and tinsel seemed to follow her as she walked away, her dark brown voice low as she climbed back up the stairs.

Dean felt a heavy hand on his shoulder and let out an embarrassing yelp as he flipped around. The bartender stood, arms out in defense. "Sir," he called over, handing Dean a glass, "Miss Eva has chosen you! The drinks are on the house!"

Dean reluctantly took the proffered cocktail, pink with cherries decorating it, and let it sloppily slide into his mouth. It was bubbly. Tasted just like cherry-cola. Cautiously, he wondered what exactly he had been chosen for? Sam was usually the chosen one.

"Dean – " Sam started but Eva was finished with Gloria Gaynor and she had quickly sashayed her way into _It's Raining Men_.

He didn't mean to slam the drink on the counter, but it ended up sloshing on his hand as he looked hard at his brother. "Sam!" He felt the _Whump-Whump_ of the music fill his chest again and thought maybe this time it was mocking him. "What kind of strip club is this?"

But Sam's eyes were wide and wild. And Dean knew it wasn't because of the dancing or their current company. It was because whatever Sam had seen, it had once again been confirmed by the presence of Eva. Nothing they ever did happened to them because of chance. Still, he lifted a shoulder to Dean like he didn't want to answer that question. For Sam, it wasn't about the club. It was about her.

Dean's eyes swung back to Eva, her red lips overpowering the size of the microphone. Her shoulders were broad; her biceps as big as cantaloupes, and her chin was solid, teasing the viewer to follow down her neck to her large… Adam's apple.

Dean shifted closer to Sam. "You know, your ESP, super-human-tricky-powers? They suck ass!" He then wanted to eat that last word as the dancers on stage with Eva suddenly dropped their drawers, exposing beautifully waxed rumps to the audience.

It was all insane and Dean would have took off right then and there had it not have been for the fact that Sam was caught up in it all, further than either of them knew, and he was shaking next to him.

There was a small burst of red and orange pyrotechnics on stage next to the performers, signaling the song was concluding. Dean jumped at the explosion, his face automatically turning up with childhood delight as it was coupled with smoke and fire, impressive for a group of female impersonators.

And exactly what was needed to send Sam over the edge and through the crowd and Dean cursing as he abandoned his fruity drink and tried to just keep up.

**Playlist:**

_Boy Named Sue _performed by Johnny Cash

_The Bitch is Back _performed by Sir Elton John

_I Will Survive _performed by Gloria Gaynor

_It's Raining Men _performed by Weather Girls

-TBC-


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **See Chapter One

Author's Note: Thanks everyone for the lovely words and reviews. You guys rock! Thanks to **Maz101** for beta'ing for me. She's a gem, that one. This chapter is a bit of a meet and greet and then we'll get into a little of the gritty.

**Chapter Two: Every Ass has a Seat**

Sam ran.

Through a wild forest of neon feathers and metallic glitter, Sam ran. Spot lights changed colors from bold reds to hot white and they seemed to follow him through the crowd, pushing on polyester and shoving fake breasts out of his way so he could get to the door – any door – and get the hell out of all this heat.

He could feel something wet slide down the side of his face. Knew it must be his sweat but the fear… the fear was overpowering and he reached up to wipe it away, surprised that his hand didn't come back covered in blood or soot. He shoved on, trapped in a burning building and he couldn't save anyone inside. Not Marilyn or Eva or even Dean. Certainly not himself. Or any girls burning alive on the ceiling.

There was a bright jolly green door dead ahead, his arms extended in front of his chest and he pushed through it, the hinge squealing loud enough to be heard over the roar of the crowd. He felt an instant relief as he entered the next room, the air immediately lifting, clearing away the sweat and smoke and giving way to incense and perfume. His hands slammed against his thighs and he bent over at his middle, letting his lungs fill and expel.

"Well, hi, there honey."

Sam paused, felt his breathing stutter as he slowly raised his eyes up. Directly in front of him was a man, dressed in a tight-to-die-for-red-satin dress, crossed at the bust with a black ribbon, tied in a beautiful delicate bow. He wore black boots way past where the eyes could travel and matching leather gloves, with the fingers removed. His face was covered in make-up, blue eye shadow and darkly outlined brows that narrowed at him. "Are you looking for the ladies room?" he asked, his voice deep, but not husky. "Or are you just looking for a tall glass of water?"

Sam frowned at that. "What?" He pushed himself up. "No." Then rethought and answered, "Well, yes. To the water part. But… you know, I need a glass of water… glass of water… a real…"

The man cocked his head to the right and threw a hand on his hip. "What other kind is there?" he teased.

Sam leaned back against the wall, watched through damp bangs as the guy reached behind him and magically revealed a pitcher of ice-cold water. Then, very slowly, he poured Sam a glass. He handed it to him with a hot pink smile, manicured pink nails dragging across Sam's hand as he let go.

Sam took a long drink and then blinked shyly. "Thanks."

"Well," the dude clipped on a dangly earring. "Enjoy it. It's the only thing around here that's free." He was shorter than Sam – but almost everyone he met was – and he didn't have a wig on yet, his hair was pulled back in some sort of netting. Sam wasn't sure if he was supposed to be impersonating someone famous or not. He was a nice enough guy. "Are you looking for someone?"

"Uh," Sam stared at him, not sure how to answer that question, mouth opened to find the words when there was a thud on the door. Sam heard a familiar voice curse and then the knob turned the opposite way and the room filled with the sounds from the auditorium for a few seconds before Dean entered and slammed the door shut behind him.

"Son of a bitch." He shook his head, eyed his brother, couldn't hide the look of relief on his face. "This isn't my kind of strip joint, Sammy."

Before Sam could get in a breath, the man glided near, attention on the party crasher. "Can I help you?"

Dean took a quick look and Sam could read each snarky comment his brother was thinking and, without realizing it, Sam was shaking his head in warning. Shit, he thought, Dean's gonna blow it before we even get a chance to figure out what he blew. Then paused at the irony in his thought process.

But Dean smiled. He met and held the man's stare; Sam wondered what his brother was actually thinking, but if it was something smart or stupid, he kept it to himself and instead simply replied, "I was looking for my brother here." Motioned to Sam. "We work for a publication out of Philly. It's not big, but it covers lots of music and independent acts. We heard you guys put on a killer show. Thought we'd come down and see if we could catch it."

This seemed to please the man. His eyes lit up and he returned the smile, although his was much wider and toothy. "We do." He folded his arms across his chest suddenly, though. And it read: _Back off_. But in a sympathetic tone, not angry. "But... right now..." searched for the proper phrasing, "this just isn't a good time."

"No?" Dean questioned.

The man shook his head. "No, we've had a bit of bad luck lately. Lost a couple of our girls here in the past couple of weeks –"

"Hey, Patty Cakes?" A voice called over. A bigger, muscular guy was standing in an open door, a dragon tattoo planted on his left arm, breathing fire up past his elbow. He was swinging a black wig at the man. "You're up next." Gave a smile, but it curved down. Grim and menacing.

Sam watched the larger fellow. He kept his gaze on the dancer, though. He gave no never mind to the visitors in the back room. It didn't feel like a snub, though. It felt like a disguise; if I don't look at them, they won't see me. Sam felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. Something inside told him to run, not walk away from that man.

The other dude, Patty Cakes, turned, grabbed the wig, and fitted it on top of his head like he was putting on his favorite hat. "Thanks, Marcel," he said to the handler, voice raising slightly.

The wig was full and curly and it was exactly the missing puzzle needed to complete the full ensemble for Sam. "You're Cher," he said, pointing at him like he was seeing him for the first time.

Patty nodded, pulled a tube of pink lipstick out of his cleavage and applied it, heavily over the first coat. "You boys wait here." He thumbed behind his shoulder. "You want a story for your little magazine, you wait for Eva. She's coming out next and she's the story you boys came to hear."

Marcel, the larger man – and Sam looked closely – he was, indeed a man, snapped his fingers once. Sam thought he caught a _boom-boom_ in his ears. A heartbeat, perhaps, but dismissed it as the percussions in the auditorium sounded. The man gave a 3-2-1 countdown to Patty and then exited stage left.

Dean nodded to the dancer, smiled again, this time almost genuine, Sam noted and let Patty blow kisses to each of them as he turned away pulling in a couple of "If I could turn back time... ti-me... ti-ome..." One more… "Ti-i-ome." Perfect. And he exited, arms extended like he was greeting an old love for a hug.

The crowd roared which caused Sam to smile. Patty almost looked like Cher from behind as he… she disappeared from his sight.

Sam put a hand up to his temple and rubbed hard. His head must've weighed a hundred pounds. He nodded involuntarily, chin met chest and Sam felt the room swirl to the right. Rouges and eye shadows blended together with mascaras and perfumes.

"Dude." Dean sidled up next to Sam's right side. He felt his brother's hand reach up and pull on his arm. Sam looked over, righted himself for the moment, saw the look of confusion in Dean's eyes.

Sam sighed. "They're female impersonators, Dean." Watched as Dean scowled at him. "You know, Drag Queens."

Dean's turn to sigh now. "No shit, Sherlock." Like Sam was the slow one. Dean's expression shifted, went from irritated to big brother in a blink of an eye. "You took off on me."

Sam felt his cheeks blush. "Oh." Felt Dean's hand still on his arm, squeezing more than comforting. Almost restraining and Sam had to remind himself that not very much time had passed since he had up and took off on Dean, not even bothering to leave as much as a note. And that little adventure had ended with a demon coming for Ava. All the plans – big plans – and not knowing what Chess piece everybody was assigned.

"What is it?" Dean asked, but it came out more demanding than he probably intended and Sam felt himself take a mental step back. If he was being honest with himself, he had every intention of coming clean with his brother, but there were some things he could afford to be straight about and things he had to bend. And trying to explain to Dean that he had had a vision that had led them to this... place was one thing. Telling Dean that he thought that there was a strong chance that he might lose his life while Dean watched was another.

"It was just a musical number, Sam." Which forced Sam's gaze to shift slightly, a hard edge to it. He knew Dean was checking him out, getting a feel, watching for tale-tale signs of where Sam's emotional state was. That almost pissed him off more than Dean following him through a crowd of dancers or grabbing him by the arm like he was a child, giving answers to an interviewee, or accusing him of running off when Sam had no intentions of doing that again. But this? Acting like he got where Sam was coming from, like he knew... Sam took a deep breath. Dean didn't know. That was the point. Down play it to him so that Sam would get all hot and heavy and explode at his brother, giving Dean the perfect opportunity to put all the pieces together.

So Sam did the only thing he could think of to do: he looked away. Ignored the statement.

"You know," Dean started, attempting to make the best of an odd situation. He let go of Sam's arm and moved around, circled the area. Sam looked up, watched as Dean gingerly touched a feathery hat and fingered a sparkly scarf. "You'd look good in a few of these." Dean picked up a studded belt, swung it around Sam, stepped back to check out the accessory. "Could be like the Halloween when we dressed you up like a girl."

Sam's cheeks broke out in a smile. "I wasn't a girl. I was a witch."

Dean pointed a finger at him, released him from the belt. "Pay attention. Wicca 101: Witches are girls."

"Fine. I was a warlock."

"You had a broom, Sam." Dean picked up a mammoth bra with at least a dozen hooks in the back. Put it up against his own chest and made an over the top shocking face. "You thought you could fly. That's a witch, princess."

Fair enough. Sam shrugged. "Enjoying yourself?"

Dean quirked his eyebrows. "Think I've seen this bra before. On Melissa Evans a couple states over." Threw the bra down, cupped his hands way out in front of himself. Stopped and stared at his brother, gave a tired chuckle then and Sam recognized the tone. It was the _Let's cut the crap – I just drove over five hundred miles so you could lead me to the backstage of a men who like to dress up like women's dressing room _chuckle. Oddly enough, he'd heard it before. "You think a demon's here?"

Sam swallowed. Didn't want to give Dean his number just yet. "No. I don't know what's here."

"Something's here, though. Your spidey sense is going off –"

"Yeah."

"Well, you, plus a vision always equals a demon."

Always. Wanted to disagree with him but he couldn't argue it, either.

"Hey." Dean leaned back, hands reaching behind him to rest on a chair. His right leg extended out and kicked Sam's foot.

Sam glanced up.

Dean shook his head, let a calming smile pass by his lips. "It was just some pyrotechnics, man. Wasn't a real fire." Locked his gaze with Sam then. Point driven home.

Sam felt his eyes prick. Had to shut them for a second longer than he should've needed to, but Goddammit, fucking Dean always had his number.

"Hello!"

Sam opened his eyes, had to squint to see through the extra moisture and zeroed in on a large, dark figure, light on her feet, moving with the grace of a trained dancer, headed right toward them.

Dean moved first, stealthy and quick, with the caution of a trained hunter, swiveling at the hips, hands moving in a defensive motion, quick to the draw. Best to keep the other person in surprise, if needed.

But if she was surprised, Eva didn't show it. She sashayed her white glittery dress by both men and turned abruptly. She was a large man, towering an inch or two over Sam and the satin that was draped around her had a difficult time containing her muscles. Sam blinked. Guessed her about 230, 240 – hell, probably 250. He was sure she could hold her own. The thought of meeting her fist in a dark alley was something he'd rather not think about. She was big.

"Well, girls," Eva began as she sat down an oversized, round rump onto an itty-bitty stool underneath her. Sam grimaced, but she swiveled away from them with ease, checking herself in the mirror. A small comb was grabbed and brushed vigorously through her eyelashes. "Backstage passes? Who'd you do to score such privileges?"

Sam could hear the audible gasp escape Dean's mouth. Eva's eyes flicked up and narrowed in on his brother's colorless face.

"We're reporters," Sam interjected into the room. Wasn't sure exactly what this connection was that Eva had with Dean or that Dean had with Eva but wasn't sure it was going to turn out to be a friendly one.

Eva whirled back again on the stool. Facing them now. Cut the crap. "Don't I feel like Oprah." She placed her lovely large hands into her lap. "What are you reporting?"

Dean was fidgety. Sam could feel his brother's eyes on him, begging him to take the reins on this one. No need for Dean to open his mouth up and insert his foot, Woody Woodpecker and all.

So, Sam gave it a shot. "We're fans –"

"Fans of what?" Voice high, sing-songy. Pleased with herself.

"Music."

"Ooh! Me, too! What kind do you like?"

Sam shuffled his feet, broke eye contact with her and looked at his shoe. He hadn't been asked such a personal question like that since… well, since college. What kind of music did he like? What was she going to ask next? Did he like long walks down by the beach? Pina Coladas and getting caught in the rain? "Well, I like some Indie stuff, but mainly we listen to…" Gestured to Dean, looked back up. Eva's eyebrows were raised high, her arches wrinkling her forehead. "Classic rock."

"So, like Zeppelin? Or, Rush?"

Sam swallowed. "Yeah."

"Not Cher? Or Barry Manilow?"

Dean laughed. No, Dean snorted and Sam knew their cover was blown, if they had ever had one at all.

Sam didn't deny not being a Fanilow. But he had a hard time meeting Eva's _I gotcha now_! stare. She signaled to the boys with a wave of her hand for them to take a seat. Sam grabbed a chair with a wire-heart back. Dean rolled up a smooth, purple stool with fur around the edges. He hesitated over the seat, trying to figure out exactly how to sit on the fake leather when a dark hand extended out and lay on his thigh.

"Honey," Eva explained frankly, "every ass has a seat."

And with that Dean sat down hard and manly and crossed his legs and then uncrossed them and finally decided on resting his hands on his knees. He tilted his head to Sam, gave him a twisted fuck-off smile. "This sucks. Out loud."

Sam had to look away or he was going to burst into laughter. Felt good, actually.

"And so you're really here because…?" Eva strummed the table near her, her finely manicured nails clicking musically on the plastic tabletop.

Sam stalled. Chanced a look at Dean but Dean was staring straight ahead. No freaking help there. But Eva wasn't going to start. She was waiting them out.

"Look, we," Sam cleared his throat. "I'm Sam and this is my brother Dean –"

"Oh! Hello, Sam." Eva leaned forward, hand erect and meaty and Sam's hand slipped in easily disappeared from his sight. She then turned to her left. "Hello, Dean." Hand extended again as she waited a full two seconds until Dean made up his mind to shake with her. "Pleasure to meet you both."

Sam smiled. "Pleasure's ours." And then wondered why he said that and realized that she was being so _nice_ to them. Cordial. It was hard not being polite back. "It's hard to explain exactly why we're here, but…" Met her gaze, cleared his throat. "We understand that you have a story worth hearing. And we might be the people that can help you."

"Help me?" Her expression was unchanged. Her voice steady.

"Yeah," Sam continued. "I think we were sent here to help you."

Eva seemed to consider his words. She was a hard study. Difficult to put any regular old word that would define her. She would not be labeled. "Tell me, Sam. Where are you from?"

Sam blinked. "What?"

"Home? Where do you call home?"

Suddenly it felt like everybody had his number. Was he really that transparent? "Um, Kansas."

"Oh, good band! How long did you live there?" Flicked a finger against a loose sequin hanging by a string.

"Not long."

"Happy memories?"

Sam didn't answer. Felt his jaw clench and his face heat up. It was like she had a big hot poker stick and knew just where to nudge.

"And your mom and dad? You close with them?"

"Shut the fuck up. Who the hell are you, you son of a bitch?" Dean's voice steeled, sliced through the air like a galvanized blade. Sam couldn't help but look over, knew his eyes were bright with anger. Dean, his big brother, was coming in for the rescue. Who was the damsel here anyway?

Eva smiled at him, toothy and wide. "I'm just one of you, honey. The stray and unwanted."

Dean stood up. Abrupt, hands flexing into fists and Sam was horrified as he watched Eva stand in full 6'6" form, sequins quivering as her muscles bunched together tightly. _Shit_, Sam thought from his chair, _I think I'm the damsel_. So he stood up, pressed a restraining hand against Dean and another out to Eva. But all that resulted in was a palm full of fake breasts. He dropped his arm and closed his eyes, totally unsure of what was transpiring here.

"Look, _sweetheart_," Dean sounding like he was almost enjoying the banter. "My brother and I… we're just trying to help you with… whatever you got going on. We're not the bad guys and we are definitely not part of this world."

Eva laughed, throaty and deep. Her Adam's apple rolled up and down her thick neck and she leaned in close, voice dropping an octave so both brothers would pay close attention. "This is not my world, either, boys." She blinked long eyelashes at Dean and pouted her lips as she enunciated her words. "I've been dreaming about you for the past week, young man. And it doesn't end well for any of us."

WWW

Eva had timed her reveal perfectly. Within seconds of dumping that she had had her own dreams of Dean, the trio looking at each other with frowned faces and heaving chests, Marcel came bursting in, calling for her to come quickly – the final act was getting started. There was a moments hesitation where everything between them was private and vulnerable and Eva reluctantly turned away from the brothers, gave them a calm, "Stay here." Then followed Marcel to another room to change her costume.

"You're the st-star," Marcel was scolding her, hair feathered back against a pale face. Definitely over forty, maybe fifty. "We've had to do too many numbers without you this week. They all came tonight to see _you_!"

"Sorry," Eva was saying, "I was enjoying a quick chat."

"S-save the fans-s for after the sh-show." Didn't stutter. Hissed.

Eva seemed utterly unaware of any oddities. "Not fans." She whisked by the small opening between the changing room and the stage. For a split second she was visible to the Winchesters. A dream girl in aqua. Ruffles and boas and a peek-a-boo black bra peeking out at the chest. "They're friends."

Marcel fluffed the back of her dress, just over the ass. It grew two times bigger. "We're ending with _Dancing Queen_." He put a hand on his hip and the other to his chin.

"You boys watching?" Eva called over. The music was dying and a loud voice came over the speaker, announcing the final act was coming. The crowd roared once again, no doubt standing on their feet. The noise was incredible.

"Think we'll sit this one out," Dean offered. Gave a wink to her and narrowed his eyes at Marcel.

Eva pulled on the black leather gloves from before, fingers poking out seductively. "Not ABBA," she said. "We'll end with… _Ice Cream Man_."

Marcel stiffened behind her. His hands dropped slowly and his stare intensified.

"You heard me," Eva tucked a smile over her shoulder. "And why don't we give out free ice cream. It is my return, isn't it?"

"Ice Cr – What? By… V-Van H-H-Halen?" This time it was a definite stutter. Marcel was ruffled. His arm flexed, the dragon tattoo moving with the motion. The tail seemed to whip with the flick of Marcel's wrist and then wrap around tight again as he brought his temper into check.

Dean didn't miss any of it.

"Fine." His voice curt but resolved. "You want David Lee Roth –"

"Really, it was the only time Van Halen was any good," Eva teased. Flashed a playful grin at Dean, teeth dazzling white against the aqua and the gleam of a spotlight, and then walked onto the stage as if she had nothing better to do.

Marcel stood frozen for a minute and then turned at his heel, gave the Winchesters his first real look and screamed, "I guess I'll have to alert the others-s-s!" He straightened his jacket, smoothed it out professionally with one hand, and exited in a huff.

Dean wiped a fine line of sweat from his brow. He chuckled low and stole a glance at Sam. "What the hell is that thing?"

Sam's cheeks tipped into dimples. Giving that power smile that had old ladies giving them free pie and young ladies giving them access to morgue keys. "I don't know. But when he was in here earlier, it was cold and now…" Took a swipe at his own new trail of perspiration.

"Hot under the collar," Dean observed. It was warm but cooling off fast. Sam was the first to give a shudder. They could hear Eva belting out the beginning to _Ice Cream Man_ and they stopped for a minute and just listened.

"_I'm your ice cream man, stop me when I'm passin' by. See now all my flavors are guaranteed to satisfy. Well I'm usually passin' by just about eleven o'clock. And if ya let me cool you one time, you'll be my regular stop…"_

Dean quirked an eyebrow in Sam's direction. "She's good."

Sam was rubbing a hand up and down his bare arm. He looked like a kid. He wasn't, of course. He'd grown up in Stanford. But since Dad had died and they'd discovered people like Max and found that their future was slipping out of their control, Dean found comfort in the things he did know. Like Sam would always be a kid. Even if it was only true in the form of his kid brother.

Eva's voice bellowed louder. _"I got bim bam banana pops, Dixie cups. All flavors and pushups, too…"_

Dean blinked. "John Brim wrote this song. Performed it first. Van Halen, they just covered it. Got all the credit." Shifted his weight, arms folded across his chest. Felt a little insecure standing in a room full of a rainbow of feathers.

"Who?" Sam asked, his voice soft alongside the climaxing musical number on the other side of the curtain.

Dean met his eyes. "John Brim. He was a blues guitarist from the '50's."

Sam smiled. Crushing, that grin was sometimes. On the top of the world one minute, ripping your heart out the next. "You and Dad and you're music." His smile faded. The room dimmed. "I never got that, did I?" A fine line deepened his brow, his face folding into a frown. "Didn't get a lot of things, I guess."

Maybe it was being surrounded by all the girlie undergarments in such a small room that was bringing out such emotions from his brother, but Dean felt bad for Sam just then. With everything they had piled on their plate, through all of the ups and downs and downs and downs and downs… Sam had never asked for any of this. It wasn't his fault that this was happening to him. He didn't _do_ anything to cause it. And John, well, John just wanted to hide everything from him. Everything they needed to know on a need to know basis. It was probably just easier for John to connect with Dean because he didn't have to hide from him like he did Sam. He didn't fear Dean like he feared Sam.

Fear _for_ Sam.

"I don't know, Sam." Dean elbowed him. "Nobody could get Dad's blood pressure going the way you could." A quick smile. "Hell, I think he enjoyed it. You made him feel, you know, alive."

The crowd was on their feet. The music hanging on their last note. Dean looked out to the changing colors shadowing the curtain near them. "I guess she's done." Scooted back from where the stage lay beyond. Wasn't sure which way the dancers would exit and certainly didn't want to get crowded by a group of them. "Do I say she?" he asked, genuinely curious to Sam. "I mean, he's a he, right?"

"Uh," Sam stood taller, seem to realize that the song was over, too, and soon there could be a parade of Drag Queens coming through. He edged up next to his brother, gave an exaggerated shrug. "I don't know. I think _she_ is right."

"But she's a dude." Dean's voice lowered, kept it between him and Sam.

"Yeah." A brief nod. "But, she dresses like a girl…"

"So he's a she." Dean resolved.

"Right." Sam agreed.

"I just don't want to…" Dean's hand waved into the air. Piss Eva off? Offend? Get punched by a guy in a dress?

"I know." Sam said and Dean knew Sam knew. "We're going to have to convince her to go someplace else and talk."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Sam, can you even imagine where she'd take us?"

Sam was quiet next to Dean and after a few seconds ticked by, Dean heard Sam say, "No, I can't." Which tickled Dean in the fact that Sam was actually thinking about where they might go later. Still, they'd have to convince Eva that a change of venue would be beneficial.

The sounds of large boots and plastic shoes hitting the wood as the flooring changed from stage to backstage was almost more painful in what to anticipate than what would probably be real, but it didn't matter. In the end, the dancers weren't flocking their way. Must be departing off the opposite exit. Dean could hear Eva's husky good-bye's in the microphone. Knew he didn't have much time before they'd be a trio again.

"Sam?" Dean leaned to his left, shoulder pressing against his brother's. "Dad didn't get me, either." Tried to meet Sam's stare when he made a _pfff_ sound. Didn't. Sam wasn't ready to let him in yet. "I mean, he didn't get anybody. Not even himself."

Then Eva blew through the curtain like a fireworks display, blazing of color and scorching from heat. She released a long sigh and in a manly voice said exactly what they were hoping to hear: "Give this skag ten, boys. I'm gonna throw on some jeans and we'll hit someplace else where we can talk.

WWW

When Eva said "throw on some jeans" Sam didn't know exactly what to expect. When she said, "someplace we could talk" he hadn't pictured any place in particular, either. But a fuchsia tank top with a small white jacket and skin tight black denim with bright purple pumps wasn't the first thing to pop in his head. The café they went to, however, was quiet and conservative.

Eva stood out like a first-prize-blue-ribbon-winning Halloween costume. She didn't seem to mind, though. Between the risotto and the vodka, Eva could've been anywhere.

Sam watched her eat as he finished his salad and passed on the main course. Dean's Hawaiian burger was big enough for the both of them, if needed anyway. But Eva ate like a horse, drank like one, too. But had the manners of any fine Southern woman. Napkin in her lap, fingers placed properly on her glass, fork and knife held backwards as she scooped up her rice. She was surprisingly dainty for her size. Which, was ginormous. Sam felt quite small compared to her and if he felt small, he could only imagine how Dean felt.

Upon arrival, Eva had pointed to a table towards the back. So that was helpful. It was a fairly secluded section and at this time of night, the traffic in the restaurant was low. Not at risk for anyone to overhear anything.

The main thing that Sam made special note of from this meeting with Eva that was different from before was that she wore her dark hair swooped up in a pony tail, exposing the sides of her neck. And up high, sitting rather still was a small tattoo of a blue dragon, complete with fire puffing from its bright red lips.

"Nice tat," Sam commented. Narrowed his eyes at Eva.

She seemed unaware of any suspicion Sam might be throwing her way. Just kept scooping up the risotto. "Thanks." Nodded as she chewed, drank some vodka to wash it down. "I got it after my Dad died years ago. I think it's ironic now, considering the name of the club and all. I did just get it touched up, though. Added the 'A'…" Eva took a deep breath, large breasts inhaled with her. "A for Abbey."

"Abbey?" Sam inquired, pushed his plate away, glanced at Dean, noticed he was checking out the tattoo. Good. On the same page.

"Abbey," Eva brushed back a stray hair that had fallen against her cheek from her wig. "She was my girl." Paused, let her eyes swing from one brother to the other. "My girlfriend."

"Oh." Dean said, nodded and winked. But all nervous like. And his voice cracked a little when he followed it all through with, "Gotcha."

Sam smiled. Almost hoped Eva would go into more of _it_ – just to see Dean squirm.

"I met her at the club. Before Marcel took ownership –"

"When did that happen?" Sam asked, sipped on his Coke.

Eva thought about it. "Six, seven months ago. The club used to be the Meow Mix. But Marcel took ownership and changed things up, made it better, really. Changed the name to Knucker because… well, it rhymes with, you know. It's also the name of some type of a dragon… from London, I think. Anyway, it attracted a larger crowd. Money started pouring in. And dancers just started leaving." Eva leaned in closer, her breasts pressing into the space between them all. "Disappearing, really. I mean, Marcel he says they quit. Gave notice, but some of those girls – Fonda Dick, Candy Ass," counted five on her fingers – "have been around for a while, you know? They wouldn't have just up and left." Then her voice softened, became sadder. "Especially not Abbey. She worked one night… and just… never came home."

Sam gave her a moment. Let the silence say more than any words could. "So that was your tragedy? That's what you're just coming back to work from?"

Eva tapped her glass. Signal: Another vodka. Sam stared at her nails. They weren't just painted; they were strong. Like claws. Part man, part woman, part beast.

"No." Eyebrows raised, more sadness. "I was distraught over Abbey, yes. I couldn't find her. I placed calls to her family. I left messages everywhere. I tried involving the police. But she had left a message with her sister. Said she was going over seas for a while. There was a ticket purchased. It was all just weird and I was… weirded out. I thought I'd quit the gig, go back home, move in with my mother. But then my mother died. Just like that. Heart attack." There were tears in her eyes, but they didn't flow and when Eva blinked, they disappeared. "So I buried her and came back. I don't have any other family." Looked at Dean. "The stray and unwanted."

"And Marcel?" Sam pressed.

Her vodka arrived. Eva smiled as she caressed the waiter's hand. He smiled back. "Marcel? Marcel was happy that I'd chose to come back. I'm a big money maker for the club. So, pleased."

"And you?"

She took a breath, narrowed her eyes at Sam and for the first time looked at him like he had said something disgusting, like he had offended her. Sam could feel his brother tense next to him. It wasn't imagined. "Me? Well, I'd like my mother back. I'd like Abbey back. But we don't always get what we want, do we?" Stared at him hard. "And what about you? What do you want back? What would you change?"

Sam swallowed. "I didn't mean it like that." He hadn't. He hadn't meant it to come out sounding so personal. But what they dealt with was people's lives and they were always personal.

Eva's face twisted. Regret, possibly. Her features slowly softened and she sat back in her seat, nursed her drink for a couple of sips and then shook her head slowly. "I'm sorry," said with meaning, met their eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm just –"

"Scared?" Dean asked. Sam looked over. Wanted to answer that question.

"No." Eva laughed. "But, rattled, I guess. And going back to the club? Returning there, well, the club is all I got right now." Looked away but her expression didn't change. "It's hard for a girl like me to land such a good gig."

The dessert tray was brought around loaded with the classics. Crème brulee, chocolate cake, bread pudding. Eva pointed and ordered the Sour Cream Raisin Pie. Requested three forks. "Want to know about the dream?" she asked, spread her hands apart. Big as sirloins.

Sam nodded. Knew Dean had, too.

"A few nights ago, I had this dream – and every night since – and each time I dream the same dream." She pointed a long finger at Dean. "You and I, we're in an argument. I don't know if we're fighting each other or someone else… it must be insignificant –"

"How do you know that?" Dean asked.

Eva shrugged. "Because I never care about the argument, love. I don't spend any time with it so it must be that important. Or maybe it's because something else is more pressing." She stopped yapping and pondered it.

Dean looked at Sam and Sam at Dean and then back to Eva.

"And then we're racing somewhere. You know, running and it's dark outside so I guess it's the night. We're running really fast… maybe down a hill… and you're following me but you're yelling at me and there's lots of trees…" Her hands waved above her head, her eyes looked up at the ceiling. Eva retelling a dream was like trying to follow a five year old talking about their day. "And then you fall. And you're hurt and we look up and there's Sam and he's standing in front of a building or a house and we don't want him to go in there and we're yelling for him to stop. He turns around and he's so confused. Should he stay or should he go?" Eva looked at Sam. Stared at him like she was expecting the answer.

"Well?" Dean asked. "What does he do?"

"Ooh, pie!" Eva squealed as the waiter put down a heaping piece of Sour Cream Raisin in the middle of the table. Gave each patron a fork, asked if there was anything else. Eva dismissed him with a smile. "I don't know." Took a bite. "Oh, my God. You have to try this."

Dean let out a reluctant breath. Sampled a piece of pie. Eyes wide to Sam. "It's delicious."

And then Sam. One bite. It was unfuckingbelievable. "Wow."

Eva grinned. Satisfied.

Sam took another bite. Her dream, though, played out for him more clearly. It made sense as he pieced it with his own dream. Sam standing with something in his right hand – a knife – getting ready to do something and Dean yelling to him. With Eva right next to him. The pieces were locking into place, but there was still a lot of pieces missing.

"Oh," Eva started, her mouth around a fork of pie. "And you're always holding a sword."

Sam's eyes narrowed. _A sword_. That was it. He looked up, eyes tracking Eva's expression. She turned her head slowly and looked at Dean. Her neck elongated with the motion and as moved to speak, Sam's eyes fixed on the small dragon inked on her skin. He felt the heat on his face, the _thump-thump_ of his racing heart, and the weight of the sword in his hand. "Oh my God." Totally did not mean to say it aloud.

"What?" Dean noticed.

"But more importantly," Eva interrupted, "is what we do before any of this happens…"

Dean was staring at Sam. No, Dean was staring Sam up and down. The back of his hand over his forehead to check for a fever and his interest would've crossed the line to _mothering_ him. "What is it?" Demanded.

Sam bit the inside of his lip because he wasn't even quite sure what any of it meant yet, but he thought he just got the last piece of the puzzle without getting a few of the middle pieces. He looked at his brother. Dean deserved an answer. And even though he wasn't sure, it escaped his lips weak and unsure, "I'm… the dragon slayer."

Eva broke out into laughter. "What?" she howled. "What are you talking about? There is no such thing as a real dragon. Besides, if you would all just shut up and pay attention, I'm trying to tell you what's more important than any of this. What do we do before all of dreams come true?"

Dean looked sick. Sam felt the blood run from his face, knew he was whiter than white. They looked back to Eva. She forked herself the last bit of Sour Cream Raisin, licked her lips and drank the end of her vodka. Her fingers snapped and the waiter returned. Her large hand patted his forearm. "Next let's try the Banana Cream and the Chocolate Silk." Let her touch linger for a moment before letting him go. Then, she turned to the brothers, her voice smooth. "We eat pie."

**Playlist: **

_Ice Cream Man _performed by Van Halen, originated by John Brim

-TBC- In 2 more days…


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One

**Timeframe:** Set in late Season Two. Madison's been killed, but they boys haven't taken a trip to Folsom Prison quite yet.

Author's Note: Thanks to those who have sent me comments. Did I mention that this story is a little more touchy-feely than I normally do? Of course that doesn't mean it's more comforting. Thanks to the awesomeness that is **MAZ101** for the beta job. She rocks!

**Chapter Three: Guilt Comes in all Forms**

Everyone has two equilibriums. A physical one to keep oneself from falling over and a mental one to keep oneself from going over. For each there is a force, whether it be a hand that shoves or words that push, that can throw an equilibrium off balance. If a force is successful, the person in question, will fall.

It took a full ten seconds after getting to the parking lot for Dean to, well, explode.

"A dragon slayer, Sam? A dragon slayer?" Circled around him once or twice. "What is this? The Little Mermaid?"

Eva chuckled at that. "The Little Mermaid? No, honey. This would be more like Shrek or Mulan, maybe."

"Never Ending Story," Sam added.

Dean smirked at them. "Great, Disney 101 lessons by a couple of princesses." Paced back and forth. Was going to run a groove into the dirt sooner or later. "This isn't funny, Sam. Are you saying that you're here to slay a real dragon because, just in case you forgot, dragons don't exist."

"That's what we thought about vampires."

Dean ignored the look of pure horrific confusion from Eva and stopped walking, just stared at his brother. Remembered those words spoken to his dad and how his dad's eyes twinkled with childhood delight when he explained to his eldest that there were things out there that would still surprise his son.

His heart skipped a beat. "Dragons. Gets funnier and funnier each time I say it." Except it wasn't funny and regardless of what Sam's visions showed, dragons couldn't exist. He started walking again.

"Wait a minute… who are you guys?" Eva asked, voice husky, belonging to the man that was buried deep inside of her.

So Dean walked a small trench into the dirt while Sam tried to enlighten Eva in the vaguest way possible. Touched gently on their job and the family business and about the monsters that were hiding in the dark. This was the part that Dean always found shocking: when the common person learns of what's really living out there amongst them and how resilient they can be.

"How does this all tie to you, Sam?" Dean asked, stopped pacing again and waited. "And I swear to God if the next words out of your mouth are I don't know, I'm gonna clock you one." Could tell by the look on Sam's face that he knew his brother was serious.

"In my dream," Sam tilted his head, eyebrows climbed together, "it's still unclear."

"So you don't know." Hands clenched. Couldn't help it. All this shit they'd been through leading up to this moment and Sam was just going to keep it all to himself. He waited on Sam, stared him down. In the distance, a dog barked. Dean didn't miss Sam's eyes shift. Caught the sound of it. And listened.

"You smell that?" Sam asked.

Dean narrowed his eyes. "No. But I _hear_ a dog barking."

"I smell something," Eva blurted. She tipped her nose into the wind. "Stinks. Sometimes I smell something like it over at the club. Really rank."

Dean concentrated. Didn't smell a damn thing.

"And if that's the stray brown and white dog that comes over looking for scraps after the shows, don't try and pet it. It's a mean ol' bloodhound. Tried to bite my hand off." Eva's voice had dipped, caution dripping from the end of her words.

"I see the sword," Sam talked quickly. "I know there's something in front of me. It's big and it's hot –"

"Are you hurt?" Kicked a rock. Almost hit his brother's leg. "In the dream does it get you?"

Sam closed his eyes. Replayed it the best he could. "I'm walking. I hear my name being called and I turn around. I see Eva –"

"You've seen her all along?"

Eyes opened again. "Yeah."

"Yeah." Dean waved his hand in an impatient gesture – keep it going.

"Uh, you're there. You're on the ground and I think you're hurt."

Dean kept his expression blank, didn't give Sam the satisfaction of reading anything that he might let go.

"I feel a heat behind me, I know it's… a monster… and it's huge. Then I wake up."

"That's it?" Dean scrubbed a worried hand down his face.

Sam was quiet for a couple of insignificant heartbeats. "Yeah."

He could already smell the sulfur coating itself all over this one. Made Dean's stomach turn. Freaky visions lead to Hellish demons. Sam's tie to them - whatever bond this was – was getting bigger than either of them could handle. But, together – stared hard at Sam – together, they were stronger. "Just…Just… don't keep me out of this, man." Voice paper soft.

Dean watched Sam glance over at Eva. Even though she pretended to not know what was going on. Eva wasn't clueless. And Dean could tell that she was already figuring out the love and desperation that pulled these two together and apart.

"You're telling me everything?"

Sam's eyes narrowed. Looked Dean straight on. "Yes."

Had to make sure, though. "Is it a demon?"

"I don't know."

His hand was still clenched in a fist and Dean swung so fast that it wasn't until he almost connected with Sam's jaw that he realized what he was doing. Pulled up short, saw Sam jerk instinctively away, and ended up clipping the tip of his chin. Still, it stung and Sam's hand was up, smoothing his pained skin. He looked at Dean, his face stricken, muddled and mixed-up.

Dean closed his eyes but behind his lids, all he could see was Sam's torn face, his tears streaking his cheeks, because he had to end a girl's life. Dean had offered to do it for him, but Sam, stubborn son of a bitch that he was, refused.

"_You saved her, Sam."_ Dean had said afterwards_. _Meant for it to be comforting._ "She didn't want to be a monster."_

_You gonna be the pot or the kettle_? Sam had asked.

Opened his eyes because living through that again was worse than the happenings in this parking lot.

It was Eva, not Sam, though that came after Dean. Pushing her finely manicured finger at his chest, screaming obscenities at him, pushing him away from his brother, _bossing_ him around. "This is how you two talk? This is how you two work a case? This is going to help me? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Don't get me started, sweetheart." Dean slapped her finger away.

Eva's chest was heaving, breathing irregular causing her to put a heavy hand up to her forehead. "I don't understand you. You are brothers… and yet, this is how you treat each other?" There was a pause, Eva looked from one to the other. "You," at Sam, still nursing his bruise, "you don't tell him what you're seeing? Are you a psychic or something?" Didn't wait for Sam's answer. "Whatever you see, you're keeping the truth from him?" Hesitated again. "Why? What does that accomplish? And you," voice deeper, a hand flying in Dean's direction, "using fists? Demanding? Not believing him?"

"What me and Sam have been through… Look, you don't know any of it and you don't want to know –" Dean interjected.

"I know enough."

Dean laughed and turned away. Idiot. Can't talk to idiots.

"Let me tell you something," Eva's mouth dangerously flapped, "every person in the world has relationship problems. I've been around, you know? People don't talk. They don't trust. They take each other for granted. They think of only themselves. Don't think you're that much different than anyone else. Just because you go out and fight creatures and monsters, it's no different than fighting off a drunk who thinks he can go all the way with you. Don't think that you are any different than me."

Dean turned on his heels. Felt his hands clench again. Eva, however, didn't flinch. "You know, _Eva_, we don't even know your real name. That's a difference. And the way you live, the way… you're _dressed_…" bit it off quickly because he wasn't sure he wanted to go there, but her hand was fixed on her hip and those jeans she was wearing looked like they'd been painted on. "Your pants are so tight that we – and everyone else – can see that you are not a woman."

Eva gasped.

Dean pointed to her groin. "It's right there, Eva. And we can all see it – you dress to the left. Okay? _That_ is different."

Eva's eyebrows were wrinkling her forehead again. She was looking at Dean like his head had just spun around his shoulders and he was suddenly going to start talking with his index finger _Redrum. Redrum._

"Well, darling, I stand corrected."

And Dean knew then that he'd hurt her feelings. Didn't recognize it on another face at first, but now, could see her eyes had gotten all soft and sad and Dean had to look away.

"You know, boys, I'm not dumb, but I can't understand… why? I just thought brothers would treat each other nicer." Eva shifted her handbag over her shoulder. "If I woulda known even one of my brothers, I would of treated him nice." She walked past Dean, opened the door to the Impala, chose shotgun. "And to think, soon? I'm going to be the one running my tight ass jeans through a forest trying to save your ass."

WWW

They dropped Eva off. She lived in a small white house with a pink picket fence. Looked quaint, actually. Sam took his place back next to Dean on the front passenger side. Sat down, let the leather cuddle him in. Every ass has a seat. Watched the darkness roll outside. Remembered how when he was a kid, he'd pretend he was in a movie and every place they'd go, every run down home they had, were just scenes out of the movie. Sometimes, he was just a character in his own life. There were times when it was just easier that way.

He always liked having a brother, though. And Dean was always his brother. Sometimes Dad was Uncle John. Sometimes he was another brother. Sometimes he was a stranger and Sam would imagine walking away from him and never looking back.

But the thought of Dean always kept him there. Until Stanford called and Sam felt the need to get up and answer it. Didn't realize at the time that he wasn't the black sheep of the family, he was the underdog. Out to prove that he could make his life better than what Dad had given him. Now, looking out the window, he didn't imagine a movie anymore. He never gave himself a happy ending. Wondered if that was his own damn fault.

Sam shivered. The weather was changing, the nights getting colder and he regretted not having a jacket.

Dean reached over and flicked the heater on. And the music up. There was something caught in the vents that had been rattling there for some time. It would stop and then reoccur at a later date. Some coin or toy stuck down there years ago. The song that was playing was mellow, though, so it had to strain to get released from the speakers.

_In these days of changing way, so called liberated days, a story comes to mind of a friend of mine…_

"There's a demon," Sam started. "I think."

_Georgie boy was gay I guess, nothin' more or nothin' less, the kindest guy I ever knew…_

Dean released a sigh. A forgiving, non-heated, sigh. His shoulders fell and his hand relaxed with the turn of the wheel. "Okay."

"I'm not sure how it's tied in… yet, but I think it has something to do with Marcel. At the club, his tattoo, I think it came to life. So I was thinking Marcel, maybe he's the demon or working for it and the dragon… I don't…" refused to say _I don't know_. Brushed the back of his hand along his still-sore jaw.

"We should do our homework," Dean said, oblivious to Sam's movements or just choosing to ignore it, didn't know for sure. Didn't really care.

"Yeah, I could try and interview him tomorrow," Sam suggested.

Dean made a sound, a huff or sorts. "Not alone, you're not."

"Did I say I was going to go alone?" He looked hard at his brother. "We'll have to tell Eva. Let her know what we're doing so she can back our play."

"That means," Dean's lips tightened, visibly swallowed, "we'll have to go back to the club."

"Uh," Sam thought about it, knew there was no 'out' for Dean in this situation, "yeah."

Of course, they'd have some apologizing to do. Have to make amends with their newfound friend and hope that she didn't take things personally. Of course, in their experience, everyone took everything personally.

The song continued on, Sam listened to the haunting lyrics. As it ended, Sam winced. Things didn't turn out good at all for Poor Georgie. It was a switchblade knife that found his demise. Sam shook his right hand, worked his fingers loose. A switchblade. A sword. A blade was a blade.

"I shouldn't have said those things to Eva." Dean's voice held a bite of regret to it.

"She's a big girl."

They both chuckled. It wasn't funny, but it was. "Did you see it, Sam?" Dean glanced over.

Sam's face had cracked, dimples galore. "How could you miss it?" And then, didn't really want to say it, but knew they were both thinking it: "It's… _huge_."

"Enormous," Dean agreed and giggled again. The car curved around to the right and they quieted down.

Regardless of Eva's large endowment, Sam could see that Dean really was unsettled with how he had treated her. "You could buy her some flowers? Make it up to her. She'd like something like that."

"Eh." Dean was considering it, Sam could tell. "I wonder why she's dreaming of this… dragon, too."

Sam took a breath. He'd been wondering the same thing. "Well, her mother didn't die in a nursery fire."

"Nope."

"And she's what? Fifteen years older than us?"

"At least. Maybe twenty."

"So, not part of the cult of the special children. She's part of it some other way."

"Cult?"

Sam breathed. "You know what I mean."

Dean cocked his head toward Sam. "Okay. So, like, she has to be there for some other reason."

Sam thought about the dream, watched his reflection in the side window, a faded version of himself. He didn't recall being afraid for Eva. Didn't remember her doing anything except shout his name out and kneel next to Dean. Wouldn't discount it, though. Was fairly certain that Eva had some part to play in all of this. If a demon was going to show itself at this location, it wanted her there.

"There's more," Sam admitted quietly and Dean turned the heater down, the blower softening. The radio was next, volume almost completely off.

"The dragon wants me. Or wants something from me. When I see it in my mind, you're bleeding, Eva's with you, and I'm going down and there's blood everywhere."

"Who's blood?"

"Could be the dragon's."

"Could be yours?" said it as a question, with a small bit of fear woven in.

Sam shrugged. "Could be."

Dean was patting his right leg now. Nervous habit and Sam actually knew the next question, had played it out in his mind before Dean ever asked it. "Well, which one is it? Is it yours or the dragons?"

"I think it's mine," he answered without any hesitation. "It feels like I'm falling and I'm hurt." Sam wrapped his arms loosely around his middle. "I'm bleeding out." Thought about Dean, curled up and bleeding. Maybe it wasn't Sam's or the dragon's blood…

"Well, that sounds," Dean stopped, looked out his own window for a few seconds, eyes back on the road, "that doesn't sound good."

_Nope_, Sam thought as they took the exit Eva had told them about for the cheapest motel in town. It didn't sound good at all.

"Dragons," Dean muttered. "Gets funnier and funnier each time I say it."

WWW

_Sam was falling._

_Eva was right: it was night. There were trees above, the branches extended way out, leaves scarcely covering them; most had fallen to the ground. Which made for a crunchy approach, Sam noticed. Every step he made, his boots smashed dead leaves. It was like a final voice for them, chomping out a warning that danger was approaching. And Sam was that danger. He was going to be totally detected._

_His eyes fell to his right. A shiny silver sword. He held it up. It was engraved, the blade, wasn't sure with what, but he didn't recognize it, no idea how it ended up in his hands. Up ahead was a large brick building. He thought maybe it was a house, but it was so big it could've been… a castle. _

"_Sam!" Dean's voice, from a distance. Behind him or to the side of him. Definitely some distance away. He needed to keep going, keep his focus straight ahead, but – _

_Sam turned around. There was a spotlight centered on his brother. He was on the ground, on his side, reaching for Sam. Blood was pooling on the dead leaves. Behind him was Eva, big and muscular, pulling Dean back. Protecting, Sam recognized. Eva screamed Sam's name and he noticed then that Eva was bleeding. Blood covered her chin, dripping on her clothes and kept spreading across like it was a disease. She never looked down, never noticed, just kept her concentration on Sam. Suddenly, her eyes rounded like dinner plates. _

_Something was heating up behind Sam. There was a shadow cast around his view, the spotlight shaded against the night. Dean's eyes widened and Sam felt a beast of enormous size and power behind him. He started to turn but the next thing he knew, he was falling. Eyes squeezed shut, the wind against his face as he fell further and further down and Sam felt his body somersault in the air. He could feel the rush of blood leaving his body and he opened his eyes and looked up from where he came from. _

_Then the ceiling lit on fire and blonde curls swung down to singe his face._

WWW

Dean had fallen into a deep sleep hours ago. Slept pretty damn well, too. Stomach this time, hand wrapped around the hilt of his knife. Index finger caressed the leather handle every fifteen minutes or so. Habit. Comforted him somehow. Didn't even know he was doing it.

"_Sammy, I don't think we got a choice here any more."_

_Shoulders tensed._

"_I hate to say it, she's a sweet girl, but part of her is…"_

_His eyes fluttered open and closed. Wake up. Wake up._

"_Evil?"_

_No. "Yeah."_

_We shoulda tried more. Could've looked harder. _

"_Yeah, well, that's what they say about me, Dean. So you won't kill me but her you're just gonna blow away?"_

_Yeah, Dean thought. Something like that. _

Hours into sleep and this is what he was dreaming. Couldn't get out of it, either. Wrapped in Sam's eyes and accusations. Stuck in Sam's fear of not being able to save another one. To have another fucking girl attach herself to him… only to be put in the ground the next day. Still, through all this, he heard the whimper. Conditioned to it by now. Visions. Nightmares. Daymares. Knew it all. Becoming just a part of his every day routine. And the whimper was reality. It was the _now_ and his dream, it was just the _then_.

Dean pushed up on his elbows, released the hilt of his knife and heard the bones in his neck crick as he turned to look to the left. Sam. Sam was on his back, gasping for air. Strangling in his sleep. Dean turned to his side, challenged his right foot over his left to see who could get the blankets off his body first. He was so tired, though. He was dragging to get out of bed.

Then Sam screamed and Dean shot up, but not as fast as his brother. By the time he'd reached the other mattress, Sam was awake but confused, his eyes wild in the night, fingers scratching at the bed, trying to claw his way through or away from something. Or someone.

"Sam!" Dean barked. Used his diaphragm, no point in pussying around.

Sam didn't flinch. Awake but still stuck wherever his nightmare had him tangled. Dean sat down next to him, grabbed his shoulders and shook him once. Again, a bellowed, "Sam!"

A long, sobering blink of the eye and Sam seemed to come back into the room. He zeroed in on Dean's face, eyes mellowing as he slowly realized that his hand was gripping a pillow, not a weapon and that, yes, he could indeed breathe.

Dean sighed. Recognition. "Sammy." He exhaled, tried not to crowd him, felt his torso lean back with his next breath. "Jesus Christ, these dreams… they're starting to scare me." Didn't mean to use the word scare. Wanted to take it back and say _You're an asshole for waking me up_ but it was already out there just like the hundreds of other things he wished he could take back.

He knew the parking lot had just been the tip of whatever was festering in Sam. With Sam, there were always several layers of emotion and, for Dean, it could be exhausting.

"Oh, Dean." Sam's voice was thin and young and his eyes full and pained. "It was…" Got caught in his throat, clogged with tears. Swallowed hard. "It was…"

Dean's fingers squeezed Sam's shoulders. He felt dizzy all of a sudden. Not sure what to do next. Wished they were someplace else far, far away from there. A beach. Full of women in bikinis. _Real_ women with real women parts.

"She… was there." Sam stammered. And Dean wanted to ask right then who _she_ was. Eva? Mom? Madison? But the list ended there and hopped like a thought bunny out of his mind as Sam fell forward, his shaggy head hitting Dean's collarbone and then his brother lost if for a few seconds.

Dean swallowed, felt his Adam's apple rub against the top of Sam's head. Wanted desperately to say the right words that would make this pain, this grief just go away. Knew then that _she_ was Jessica. Because _she_ was always Jessica. And there was no other _she_ in the world that could reduce Sam to a blubbering mess. Dean found his hand wrapping silently around Sam's back, long strokes against a soaked t-shirt.

"You're going to fucking talk to me about this," he whispered. Wished he had more. Shoulda paid attention better in Psych 101. "Because…" Dean's eyes burned. _Because I care about you? Because we have to get the job done? Because I love you?_ Cleared his throat and stilled his hand, pressed it into Sam's back. "Because this is killing us."

Used us. Hoped Sam would take note.

Just as fast as the tears started, they stopped and Sam pushed Dean roughly away. Used what energy he still had to sit up properly and wipe his eyes and nose with the corner of the bed sheet.

Better than Dean's shirt, Dean figured, but he shoved off the bed and stumbled through the dark to the bathroom for some tissues. He flicked on the light and let the florescent warm up for a minute. Scanned the counter of the sink. No fucking Kleenex. Leaned over and unrolled half the toilet paper, tearing it with one swipe. Dean grabbed at the one and only paper cup and tore off the protective paper it was wrapped in. Filled it with water and then turned towards the tub and threw a punch at the shower curtain.

_All right, something like this starts happening to your brother, you pick up the phone and you call me!_

Dean threw another punch. Hit the curtain again. Watched as it playfully swayed away and back again. He remembered his mom would hang laundry out on the line when he was a little boy. Then they'd run through the sheets and they would do that – sway happily back and forth. Dean punched it again. It swished back to him. Taunting him. Grabbed it with both of his hands this time and pulled hard.

_Call you? Are you kidding me, Dad?_

He yanked on the plastic curtain until one of the rings gave way, felt his body falling down. Wanted to shred the goddamn thing to bits.

_What did you know, Dad? Fuck you. Either have to kill him or save him. What kind of shit is that? Who gives those orders? Who the hell do you think you are? Were_… Dean tussled the curtain back and forth. _Were. Who he was. _'Cause Dad was a was. Dean lost his footing and fell to the floor.

"Dean?" he heard Sam call out. Quickly used the toilet to pull his body up. Shower Curtain 1, Demon Hunter 0.

"I – I slipped on some water, Sam!" he called back. "I'm okay. Be right out." Pressed a hand down his chest as he stood. Counted back from five. _Breathe in and breathe out._ Felt his heartbeat calming_. Slow and steady wins the race_. Put a hand out to catch him so he wouldn't fall. _He didn't ask for this. Not his fault._

Looked at the bathroom. During the scuffle, he realized that he had actually spilled the cup of water. He pulled down the hand towel and soaked up the mess. Calmly, he tossed it to the side and picked up the empty plastic cup. Filled it again.

It was then that he allowed himself a bit of time out of his busy night of sobbing brothers and beating up shower curtains, to look at himself in the mirror. His face looked green under the fluorescent but he could see the dark circles riding under his eyes. His freckles were pouncing off his cheeks, leaving him looking like a zombie. Felt like it, too.

_The three of us, that's all we have. And it's all I have. Sometimes I feel like I'm barely holding it together, man. And without you or Dad –_

The water was overflowing the cup. Dean looked down and cursed. He noticed he'd been gripping the inside of the sink with his fingertips. All the pressure and weight he had building up, he had subconsciously forced into the tips of his fingers. It hurt like a son of a bitch letting the sink go. And that felt wonderful.

He picked up the cup, poured out some of the water and grabbed the wad of toilet paper. Left the light on this time and the door cracked open so he could see his journey through the motel room. A stubbed toe would've surely brought on a meltdown. Wasn't quite ready for that.

Dean handed Sam the water and the tissue. The dim light cast an eerie glow on Sam's face. Distraught, it was. Abandoned and regretful. It was heartbreaking and, yet, Dean knew he was the only person in Sam's world who could relate. He shifted his rear onto the mattress and sat back down next to his brother, hip to hip. Made sure to divert his eyes the other way, though. Speak to the wall and it was easier to talk to Sam.

"What is it your afraid of?" A glance back because it was all about the expression. Not about the words.

Sam was staring off to the right, wet eyes gazing into the light coming from the bathroom. He brought the wad of tissues up to his face. Swiped at new tears.

"Is it you? Are you seeing – are you afraid you're going to die?"

A shake of the head.

Dean waited. "You afraid of Eva dying?" Swallowed. "Of me? You afraid of me dying?"

And Sam turned his head on that one, met his brother's eyes, glared.

"I don't know, Sam!" Dean shouted. Was afraid his brother was going to start with the fucking water works again and that – _that_ – scared him. Sam not saying a goddamn word to him and Dean trying to read his mind. He wasn't a fucking mind reader. Opened his mouth and was just about ready to scream that at him when Sam spoke.

"Guilt." Said it so grimy that it sounded like a virus. "Dean. I'm full of it." Didn't follow it through with _And there's nothing you can ever do about it_ because he wasn't a kid anymore. He was a man and a man doesn't throw shit like that at their big brother. Instead, they let their eyes say it for them.

Dean looked down. He'd lost this one. There was nothing he was ever going to be able to say to make this better. Jessica's death – the way she died – and, worse yet, the Haunting of Jessica – it wasn't going to go away and there wasn't anything Dean could do about it. There was no forward from this. And if there was, neither one of them knew how to start.

"Yeah, well," Dean flashed a tight smile. "Guilt comes in all forms, Sam."

Sam's face twisted. Like he was drunk and some guy just challenged him to a Theory of Evolution throw down. That _All Mighty, Holier than Thou_ crap. It pissed Dean off. Sam scowled. "I'm not saying –"

But Dean was up and crossing the tiniest two steps to his own bed. Crawled under the covers. _It's not his fault_. "Good night, Sam."

"Dean."

He could hear the sounds of Sam shuffling, ripping off pieces of the toilet paper, moving the plastic cup off the table and back to the table. Could hear the pounding of his brother's heart and knew, without a doubt, that if Sam felt guilt before, he was now shitface drunk with it. _Sleep on that, asshole_, Dean thought.

Saw a faint glow beyond the curtains. Morning was finding her way to them once again. He heard Sam sniffle and wondered how much of this was really about the past and how much was about the present. Wondered if he could, possibly, do something about that.

Dean sighed. And felt guilt.

**Playlist:**

_The Killing of Georgie_ performed by Hot Rod Stewart


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**: See Chapter One

Author's Note: Well, I hit my garage door today and about took it down. So it's been one of those days where you do a thousand things and nothing feels like it's gotten done. But, I am taking a minute to stick to my two day promise! **Emmers224**, this one is for you!

And, **MAZ**, you have my adoration. Thanks for every word you've written to me over the past few months.

**Chapter Four: Such a Fairytale**

Dean drove.

They'd spent the day researching. Laptop on: looking up dragon lore. What kills one – both surprised to find there were many different kinds of dragons and even more ways to kill them. Dean pointed out that there were some that were gentle dragons. Maybe they'd luck out and get one of those. Laptop off: checked the area for possible lairs or castles. That was fun. Dragged their asses through mud and weeds past their waists. Sometimes they'd walk right into knee-deep water without warning.

"Dragon hunting." Dean shook his head. Dumbest thing they'd done in a long time.

He'd slept a good six hours the night before, but the last one was what really put him in the shitty mood that he was in now. They'd had coffee for breakfast, fast food for lunch and nothing but coffee the rest of the day. Now, it was past rush hour on a Friday night, already dark, and Dean felt like a salmon swimming against the current in the Cleveland traffic. He swerved past a semi, flipped off some lady – coulda been a guy for all he knew –, drank a 'Biggie' coffee in four gulps, and blared the horn through two yellow (and one red) light.

Sam just sat there, against the passenger seat. Had barely said three words to him the whole day. Distant, secluded, and goddamn ghost like.

Dean gripped and regripped the steering wheel. Took all the events from last night and shoved them aside. Forgot that Sam had broken down, if only for a second. Already disregarded the screaming, totally couldn't remember the things Sam blubbered. Certainly had no idea why neither one of them had even cracked a smile all day.

The future, it looked so bright. He'd wear his shades if it wasn't already night.

The billboard that signaled them yesterday that there was a bright and shiny strip club coming up down the road zipped by. Dean glanced up. Anna Nicole Smith after a really bad night. Yeah. That was her – him – her. Whatever.

Wanted to comment about the advertisement. Curious if Sam wondered about the people who visited the club. Were they looking for entertainment? Did they think it was just for fun? Looking for a date? Played the conversation out in his mind because he knew what Sam's level-head responses were going to be and how Dean wasn't going to feel so silly as he flicked on the turn signal to the parking lot.

"Dean." It was Sam who spoke first, though. It was rough, scratchy. And it startled Dean.

Still, he didn't want to seem eager or even relieved that his brother was talking to him. So he rolled shoulders, worked a twitch out of his right hand and sighed heavily. "Y-h?" said it fast so it was just a sound, really. Made it easier somehow.

"When we get in, we need to get to the back area again." Sam tilted his body toward his brother, his back leaning gently on the passenger side door.

"You got us in there so easily last time," Dean reminded him. Wished Sam would turn around. Recalled the time Sam was six and had fallen asleep against the door and Dad took a corner too hard… somehow the door popped open and young Sammy went tumbling out. A few scrapes, bruises… but it had scared them all so much worse. Dean thought Sam did it now just to irritate him. Took a breath. _Not his fault_.

"Yeah, I know. When we get in there, who knows who will be where so we need to find Eva and see if she can formerly introduce us to Marcel." Sam cleared his throat. "And then you need to ditch me for a while. Let me talk to him alone."

"Not gonna happen," Dean replied quickly, palmed the Impala into the closest parking spot, shifted into park and turned off the ignition.

"He'll respond better if there's just one of us. Send us both in and he'll feel like we're ganging up on him."

"So?"

"So?" Sam turned around, faced the front again. "So, you know exactly what will happen, Dean. He won't talk and I – we need him to talk. Right?"

Dean felt fidgety. Hated, hated the feeling that Sam was going to say something that made sense.

"I can… he'll be more comfortable with me. I'm…" his voice trailed off but Dean got it. Sam was more boyish. Less threatening. "Besides, you need to kiss and make up with Eva."

"Shut up."

"Get your chocolates."

Dean reached back behind the front seat and grabbed a slender box of truffles, decorated in lavender, just waiting for him on the backseat. He felt the heat hit his cheeks as he twirled around. The last time he'd bought something more than a drink for a chick… he couldn't even remember the last time he'd done that. His fingers wrapped around the door handle, but he held for minute, stole a look at Sam. "Hey."

Sam slowed, his eyes looked dark as they skimmed over the seat. Looked guilty.

_Fuck_. Realized that this was just Sam's every-day-look. _Dean. I'm full of it._ Grasped what Sam meant because it was pouring out of his brother. "Just, don't do anything stupid, okay? Don't go anywhere without telling me. Don't ask anything that's going to get you pegged. And don't go off getting yourself into trouble."

Sam's eyebrows rose. Almost playfully. "Trouble? In a drag bar? Dean –"

"You know what I mean. Don't go off getting yourself hurt or something –"

"You're worried about me. You don't need to worry about me. You just concentrate on keeping Eva happy." Sam pulled the door handle. Exited the vehicle.

Dean followed, chocolates tucked undetected under his arm. Sly. Followed his brother around the front of the Chevy.

Sam sniffed, inhaled. Eyes scanned the landscape to the west. _Smelling_ again.

Dean took in as much air as he could through his nose. Besides the prairie that was next to the club, he just wasn't picking up on anything of particular mention. He waited as Sam wandered to the edge of the parking lot, walked the perimeter and then came back; apparently ready to go inside now. Not satisfied, though. Not by a long shot.

"You are, Sam."

A small tinge of confusion wrinkled his brother's face. "What?"

"You are worrying me."

Sam's right cheek tipped into a sad smile. He yanked hard on the Knucker's door, the inside pulsating the outside with a quick tempo, an upbeat pace, an absolutely fucking addicting '70's disco song that could make anyone want to tear into the place just to shake their booty.

Dean walked calmly and disinterestedly by Sam. Entered the huge auditorium and immediately felt his sac shrink up just a little.

Sam sidled next to him, pointed in the direction of the Jolly Green door. Dean started to make a beeline for it, when Sam pulled on his arm. Marcel was over to the right of the bar, talking with two of the dancers. Or, rather yelling at them. Eva was nowhere in sight. Best bet was she was in the dressing area. "Should I try and approach Marcel now?" Sam asked.

Dean looked up. "We said we'd have Eva introduce us."

Sam was eyeing the large man hard, though. "Yeah, why don't you go find Eva. Try and patch things up with her and you two can meet me out here. Or I'll meet you back there."

Dean was hesitant. "Sam –"

"I won't… do anything stupid." Looked at his brother. Meant it. Still looked guilty, though.

A nod. Dean closed his eyes and nodded again. Didn't like it. "Fine." Could see the Jolly Green door. Took a step, stopped when he felt Sam tug on his arm again.

"Thanks," Sam said, voice warm near his ear. "For last night. Thanks."

If Sam thought that was going to make it easier for Dean to walk away... Dean rotated around. But Sam was already three long strides away from him.

"Unfreakingbelievable." Dean muttered, turned away and started to weave his way through the crowd. Sam and his awesome timing. Spent the whole f'ing day with him – barely a word and then the last two seconds and he says everything. Everything that mattered, at least. A drink was offered to him as he was waiting on somebody with a huge feather hat to pass by. He took it, smiled at the lovely redhead who had given it to him, readjusted his chocolates and kept going, the green door just a few feet away. He put his hand up to knock when the door opened and a flood of dancers dressed in corsets and tall, feather hats piled out. It was tough to tell in this place who was a performer and who was a customer.

But another sparkly face greeted him. Another somebody trying to be a different somebody and as she danced Dean through the back room, one dressing room after another, eyes shielded by his left hand, Dean wondered how many lost people like this were out in the world. If they were even lost, maybe they were found. Regardless, it was like an entire underground he had no knowledge of.

But, they were nice.

Dolly, as she called herself, arrived at the last door on the right. It had the biggest gold star adorning it. She rapped twice, opened it just enough to stick her head in. "Eva," she whispered loudly. "You have a gentleman caller." Dean knew Dolly was winking or lifting her eyebrows up or, God forbid, making an obscene gesture with her tongue and her cheek.

Whatever she did, there was a grumble in response and Dolly darted her head out and shrugged at Dean. "You can go in."

Dean nodded briskly and squeezed through Dolly's ample body and the open door. Blushed because she made it no secret that she was enjoying him slither in and out. Dean pulled the door shut quietly behind him. Turned, and was taken aback at the sight of Eva. She sat in a sea blue gown, long strings pulled tight around her middle, let loose at her bosom. She had rhinestone stilettos strapped in blue knots across her feet, but that wasn't what made Dean stop. She hadn't yet put on her wig… she was applying her makeup, her false eyelashes, actually, and hadn't placed the icing on the cake just yet.

Her hair, her _real_ hair, was kept short, like a buzz cut. Looked like she had just enrolled in the Army. Her head was full of tight black curls. But she had large earrings on, silver lightning bolts that took up most of her ear. She looked vulnerable, some how.

"You've come back solo," she observed with barely a glance. Put some sort of glue on her lashes and pressed them on hard.

"Sam's here." Dean moved away from the door. Walked into the rest of the dressing area. It was about as large as a walk-in closet. Probably the biggest dressing room in the joint. Dean spotted two chairs that he had the pick of, pink or black. Extended his right foot out and hooked it around the black one. Dragged it towards him. He sat down quickly. "Sam's here," he went on, not that she had asked, "he saw Marcel in the auditorium. Thought he'd try and talk with him first."

Eva didn't show any expression to that news. Her hand reached for the mascara and she worked the fluffy brush through the recently applied lashes, her eyes squinting with the force.

Dean pulled the chocolates out from under his jacket. Looked around. Just the two of them. Tilted his head and swallowed before revealing them on her dressing room table. If she noticed the gesture, Eva ignored it, continued on with her primping.

"What is Sam saying to Marcel?" she asked instead.

Dean let out a breath, didn't know he was holding. It was hotter than hell in the dressing room. "We're sticking with the story that we're reporters and we're covering the club for our column. He's just asking some basic questions about when he took over the place, the changes he made, looking for when Marcel slips up or gives him clues. You know, in case he's involved with the disappearances."

Eva threw the mascara to the side. She heaved a breath and looked at Dean through the mirror, her eyes narrowed on him and her lips, bright red and screaming sex, formed words that Dean had trouble paying attention to. "What the hell is wrong with your brother anyway?"

It was an immediate reaction. Dean bristled. "What?"

She didn't waver, though. "What is he? Psychic?"

_Oh, that_. Dean's warning decreased from red to orange. Which, for him, was pretty normal. "Sometimes, he has dreams that come true."

Eva looked away. Dean was relieved. She rummaged through a basket of make-up and tools. Pulled out an eyelash curler and Dean watched as she pressed her eyelashes with it, impressed at how lovely the curl was when she removed it. She was starting to look more like Eva now.

"So, he is psychic, then?"

Dean pulled his lips against his teeth. "Yeah. That's one word for him. There's other words that would describe him, too."

"Yeah," Eva agreed. "Like pain in your ass."

Dean had to give it to her: Eva learned quickly. He grinned. "Yeah, that, too." He paused a second and then asked, "What about you? You've been having your own dreams and they've come true so far."

"First time," Eva admitted. "I mean, I get feelings sometimes, but nothing out of the ordinary."

Dean watched her, mesmerized. "You aren't adopted or anything, are you?"

A quick _what the hell_ look, but she showed that toothy smile. "No."

Dean batted a pink ribbon away from his knee. It was hanging from above. Seemed oddly attracted to him. "So no chance that your mother – your birth mother – died in a fire in your nursery? When you were a baby?"

Eva's hands didn't stop moving. Now she was spraying something all over her face and neck. Kept the make-up from flaking off as she perspired. She chuckled, deep and throaty. "No. Why do you ask?"

Dean looked away. Felt a bead of sweat stream down his temple. Felt like a sauna. "No reason."

A few plucks from a tweezer and Eva was signaling Dean for her wig. He stood up and walked the short distance to a dresser where a trio of mannequin heads were perched, each with a different style of black wig.

"The one on the left, Dear."

Dean's hand stilled over the first one. _Dear_. Been about… twenty-three years since he'd heard anyone call him that. His hand brushed the wig. It felt like every other woman's hair he'd gotten his fingers tangled up in.

"Is that how your mother died?" Eva's paper soft voice caused his hand to freeze. "She burned up in your nursery when you were a baby?"

Dean just stood there, trying to figure out a way to backpedal his way out of this one, but Eva was deserving, somehow, and she had asked so politely. "Sam." Even speaking his brother's name, Dean felt protective. "It happened in Sam's nursery. When he was a baby." He chanced a nervous look at Eva. She smiled sweetly.

"Of course," said like she was stupid to not have it figured out already. "He is the younger one. The good looking one." She rolled her hand for him to hurry up with her wig.

Dean hovered over the mannequin. "I have to save him." _Shut-up, dickwad_, he told himself. But it was eating him, this secret, this responsibility. And Dean was afraid. Afraid he'd fail.

Eva was quiet, the music outside beating through a drum solo. "Can't he save himself?"

Dean snickered. Nice and simple and such a fairytale. Wished he could explain why that was so funny, but all he could do was shake his head. The words took too much energy all of a sudden.

"Dean," Eva said, bolder. He looked over. Wasn't even embarrassed. "My wig is on your other left."

_Oh_. Blinked and realized he'd gone to the first wig, on the right. He reached over and grabbed the far wig. It was shorter, choppy, and had a bright blue streak carving the edges. But when Eva put it on, the sharp lines hugged her face in fiercely.

"Hey," Dean said, voice raspy. He gestured to the chocolates that were still balancing on the edge of Eva's dressing room table.

Eva frowned. "Hey, what?"

God, she was going to make him do this the hard way. "I just, about last night…" pointed to the chocolates this time. "I was… I said some things that I shouldn't have."

Eva looked down, saw the box, _finally_, sitting there waiting for her to open. She reached over, her nails scratching on the plastic that protected the box. "What is this?"

_Was it that difficult to figure out?_ Dean bit any commetns back and nodded. "I bought you some chocolates."

The box was turned around and Dean could hear the pieces of chocolates dislodging from their wrappers. Eva skimmed the back of the box and then, very slowly, her eyes lifted back up to meet Dean's. "Lavender?" she questioned. "You bought me chocolate flavored nougats disguised in a lavender box? They're not even real chocolates."

Dean smirked.

"Don't tell me," Eva pushed. "You bought these from something that has Drug Store in the title." She turned the box back around, looked in disgust at the pink bow printed on top. And with pure horror, she read the corner of the lid, "Nobody knows the truffles I have seen?" Her false eyelashes fluttered and she glowered at Dean.

_Uh, oh_, was Dean's first thought. His second came out verbally, "You're kidding me, right? I was sorry… for last night. I bought you a present so that you would know how sorry I was –"

Eva stood up, her frame over powering Dean's. "You bought me something that cost $6.99!"

"What?" Dean elevated his voice, to show his repulsion over the accusation.

Eva pointed to the bottom of the box. "It says so right there. I'm worth almost seven dollars to you." She shoved the box back at Dean, smeared it into his chest to prove her point. "And it's _lavender_!" Voice over-the-rainbow-past-sane now. "Lavender comes in the form of soap you're not allowed to touch. I don't think you bought these for me to _bathe_ in. Lavender? You line a casket in _lavender_!"

He'd give it to her – for a dude, Eva really knew how to push his buttons. He didn't know whether to tell her to go fuck herself or to make her a mix tape. She was nine kinds of crazy.

"Red." Heaved the word. "You want to apologize to me, you use red. The color of sirens. Of cherries. The Devil. Red. The color of sex."

Dean couldn't take in a breath long enough to figure out what to do with it.

"Piss you off?" she ventured, studying his face for a full minute.

Dean inhaled through his nose. His blood was pumping, and he was trying to figure out if it was all rushing to his head or away from it. He nodded.

"Good." Eva said, turned and gave herself a quick once over in the mirror. Pushed her breasts up higher. "Now you know how I felt last night. You and I, we're even."

Even? This was Eva's idea of getting even? Dean spun around, felt dizzy, and followed her out the door, down the small corridor that Dolly had danced him down earlier. "Hey!" Dean called. "We gotta talk. We need to figure out what's going on and how we're going to stop things from, you know…" He picked up the pace. Eva moved fast. "Escalating."

Her hands were moving as she pushed down the hallway. She grabbed at a boa that was hanging over a door and wrapped a belt around her waist that she saw hanging on a hook. Stopped, considered her ensemble in a full length mirror and then ditched the belt.

"You need to try and change your attitude." She dabbed at her lipstick. The voice over the speaker was announcing her to the stage.

"Yeah," Dean said, eyes darted around, looking at the other dancers getting ready to go on. "I'll try that."

Eva twirled and laid a thick hand on his shoulder, squeezed his muscle firmly. "I mean it. You need to stop and change your attitude toward someone. Not everyone is as different as you think they are."

"Yes, you're right." Dean smiled tightly, remembered Eva's rant from the previous night. "We're all similar."

She let him go, but held her stare. Someone came up behind her and placed a large feather hat on top of her head. "You better knock on wood, Dean." Smiled slyly.

And then the beat started and Dean backed away; let the dancers take their places. They started, one by one, entering the dance floor, arms away from their sides as they fluttered their arrival. Eva was at the back of the line and it was moving quickly.

"Oh, and Mr. Big Stuff?" Her neck craned to her right, eyed Dean sharply, the feather headpiece bobbed dangerously. "Last night? I found the castle, you know, where the dragon lives? But, go find your brother and we'll meet up later. Right now, I have a show to do."

Stunned, Dean looked around. Standing alone in an empty dressing room, surrounded by glitter and glitz once again, he felt like punching something. Took off through the Jolly Green door to do what Eva had ordered.

WWW

"Excuse me?" Sam shouted, index finger pointed at Marcel. The large man started to turn away, obviously wrapping up his tirade on the dancers and trying to make a quick get-a-way. "Excuse me!"

Marcel stopped. Eyes locked on Sam's. Caught. He elbowed one of the dancers out of his way and put a hand on the bar for support, tattoo hard to miss. "Can I help you?"

Sam let out a relieved breath, broke out a big smile and let his dimples do the walking. "Hi," he said over-achieving on the effort. "Hey, my name is Sam James and I'm here with my partner. We're from Philly and we're doing an article on some underground dance bars." Watched Marcel's reaction. Unreadable. "Wondered if you had a moment to talk about your place."

Marcel pushed away from the counter, arms folded across his chest. "This isn't a bar," he growled. "This-s is-s a night club."

Sam's ears started to buzz. The hairs on his arm stood on end. Standing face to face with this big, oversized guy, Sam knew from all his years of hunting that this man was not right.

"Sorry," Sam said, swallowed. "Your club. I had a couple of questions about it." The music, though, was so loud and Marcel wasn't going to budge from his location.

"Such as-s?" Couldn't control his lisp. Maybe he had trouble with his s's but his eyes were burning holes at Sam and his gaze was cold, snake like. His mouth was too small for his round face and he seemed to have trouble containing his tongue inside it.

"You've owned the place for just a few months?" Sam questioned, stuck to the plan even though every instinct was telling him to high tail it out of there.

Marcel unfolded his arms, took a deep breath and then _leaned in_ – real close, right next to Sam's neck. He let out a long, rank breath. Made Sam's lips curl and he spat out, "What?"

Sam pulled back. His eyes drawn down to the owner's arm, saw the colorful tattoo highlight itself momentarily in bright pinks and purples, the tail swished from left to right and then stilled again. Sam looked up. Voice dark. "Why are dancers disappearing from your club?"

Marcel laughed. A short, hacky, dry kind of laugh. "What are you as-s-king, really?"

Kind of wanted to haul ass and leave this place, but Sam stood still, leaned in closer to Marcel this time, articulated his question, "What part do you play in this? With the missing… with the missing girls?"

"Try it," Marcel hissed. "Try coming after us-s. And you know what will happen."

Sam stayed where he was, didn't back off an inch. "I know you think you'll kill me."

He laughed then and it made Sam shiver. "You?" Like it was a joke. "You come after us-s and it'll be your brother who pays-s the price."

Marilyn Monroe smashed in between the duo, breaking their connection. She twirled for Marcel, showing him a broken strap on her silky white dress. She was distraught about the broken tie, her fingers working as fast as her mouth was. The large man nodded at her, understanding, he placed his paws on her arms and turned her around to face Sam. "This man here," he said, "he can help you with your dilemma. He's good at helping with s-simple problems-s."

Sam scowled at him but Marcel was shoving away from the interview, back into the throng of customers. Another dancer approached him with some wardrobe malfunction, but he pointed at Sam to help her. Sam felt his mouth turn down into a frown and Marcel put the side of his hand to his forehead, saluted the hunter, blinked and flashed greasy black eyes to him before disappearing into the crowd.

Sam lost his breath, if he was even still breathing, Marilyn in his face, shouting at him about the broken strap and Sam did the only thing he could think of at that moment: he started to fix her up. It was ribbon like, but thicker and reminded him of a time when Jess had snapped a strap on her purple pumps. He'd fixed them, too.

His hands kept working steady, which he couldn't believe, and before he knew it, the dress was fixed and the other dancer was standing in front of him, broken finger nail and a tube of glue in hand. Sam patched her up, his mind racing faster than his fingers. _If Marcel is a demon and the tattoo of the dragon is coming to life_… scooted out of the way as a waitress butt in, asked the bartender for a couple of drinks. She looked Sam up and down. He had the nail pressed on secure and smiled back.

"Damn boy, I'd like to take you right now… make you a man." She licked her lips excitedly. A thrilled look in her eyes when Sam didn't run away in horror.

Joan Rivers bounced in and turned around, lifting her hair, exposing her neck and a broken necklace. The announcer was presenting the next act and everything was just so loud. Sam could barely think. He heard a disco beat pop out and without having to glance up, he knew that voice was Eva's.

"_I don't want to lose you. This good thing, that I got_…"

Eva was a star. She stood out from the others, big and beautiful and delicious looking. Her body was like the Titanic, but when she moved, nothing was sinking. It was hard to not watch her.

"_It's like thunder and lightning. The way you love me is frightening. You better knock, knock, knock on wood_..."

"Sam!"

Sam made a sound of noise, surprised, and looked up to see Dean staring at him in shock.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked, bit back a shit-ass grin, Sam could tell.

Sam attached Joan's necklace. "Just doing my job," he answered.

Not able to hide it anymore, Dean not only broke out into a smile as big as Oklahoma, he let a real laugh slip out. "Dude…"

"Stop it." Sam said, serious. But as Dean ordered a beer, another dancer worked her way in between them, her butt jutted out to Sam, needing the bow retied. "Dean, we have a problem."

Dean glanced over. "Why? What kind of a knot is it?"

Sam's hand rested on his hip and then he shifted it off as quickly as it landed. "I'm not – not about this." Pulled the bow tight and then flared the loops, crisp and full. The dancer reached back and scratched her lovely nails along Sam's cheekbones.

"You could totally get a job here, man," Dean teased when the dancer exited. "You'd blend right in."

But Sam wasn't in an amusing mood. Eva strutted around the stage, the feathered performers following her, their shoes clunking on the wood like cattle following the feed sack. She was on an encore's encore of singing "_Knock, knock, knock on wood_." Just when the audience thought the song was ended – Eva did another round.

Maybe this was why she was called Eva Destruction.

Sam edged next to his brother, shoulder-brushing-shoulder. He was breathing hard, felt like he'd just gone ten rounds with the heavy weight champion of the world. Dean looked at him, all joking kicked aside. Back to worry and Sam welcomed that more than the messing around.

"Dean," Sam started, kept his voice purposefully low, a tone Dean was trained to zone into, "we're dealing with a demon."

"Marcel?" Dean asked, even if it was unnecessary.

Sam nodded, kept his eyes moving around the room. "And that tattoo?" His hand hovered over his arm where Marcel was inked. "It came to life, Dean. I mean, it had to rewrap itself around his arm or it was going to jump off and skip away."

It was a long moment that passed. Eva twirled on the dance floor, the dancers were scampering off and she was left alone, the spotlight was only on her now. She engaged the audience, walking around and talking to people she recognized in the audience, calling one Danny and another Nancy. She asked what they – her fans – wished her to end with but she was greeted with so many requests, it was hard to decipher just one song.

Eva laughed, whirled the microphone on its stand for a few seconds and then looked out, towards the bar. Sam thought maybe she was looking at Dean. "My father," her voice turned flat, "her was always chasing the dragon." The crowd ooh'd. "Until one day he caught him and you know what that dragon did? He ate that stupid son of a bitch." Eva shifted her weight from stiletto to stiletto. "I was nine years old." The audience hushed. "Bastard," she breathed. And that was all she needed as her voice rumbled sadly, "_I hurt myself today. To see if I still feel. I focus on the pain. The only thing that's real_."

"Maybe the dragon on Marcel's tat is _the_ dragon," Dean suggested. Sam had considered it already. Just hadn't talked it through yet. "Maybe that's it. Maybe it's just this little lizard thing that we have to…"

"Impale?" Sam shook his head. "Never that easy."

Dean sighed. "I know."

"I suppose we should plan on following Marcel home. Find out where he holes up."

But Dean was shaking his head. "Eva says she found the castle. Knows where the dragon lives."

"What?" Sam's neck snapped, his eyes glued on his brother.

"I was getting around to it."

Sam crossed his arms, watched Eva as she reached a hand out to one of the many who had fingers and hands stretched as far as they could to touch her. "_What have I become, my sweetest friend? Everyone I know goes away in the end_."

"You can't do it alone," Dean whispered, but Sam caught it. Didn't say anything back, even though he knew Dean was waiting him out. It annoyed his brother but Sam was through with making promises he had no intentions of keeping. "You aren't a superhero." Louder. Maybe even a little angry.

"I know," Sam offered. It wasn't enough, though. For Dean, when it came to Sam, there was never such a thing as too much.

"That's not enough, dude." Got nudged that time; Sam's balance faltered.

"We just need to get him closer. Off his turf. Away from a hundred people." The show was over, the crowd whistling and hollering and screaming her name. "And we need a plan."

"I'm for that." Dean agreed. Started clapping loudly, shouted a couple of "Yeah's" along with the other groupies.

Sam laughed. "I take it Eva liked the chocolates?"

Dean stopped applauding. Glared up at his brother. "Don't get me started." Rammed a finger into Sam's chest to make a point.

Sam's arms extended out. "What?" he quipped. "How did things go?"

Eva waved big, blew kisses and walked off the stage. The audience started to break up, voices dropping to inaudible hushes. Dean yanked on Sam's wrist, started to guide him through the auditorium, headed towards the Jolly Green door. "I don't know." Dean slapped his sides with his hands. Frustrated, Sam recognized. "I think I'm dating her." He shrugged. "And if this is what it's like to date her, breaking up with her is gonna be a bitch."

**Playlist:**

_Knock on Wood _performed by Amii Stewart

_Hurt_ performed by Johnny Cash (original version by Nine Inch Nails, but Eva sang JC's remake. It's more haunting.)

-TBC-


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One

**Author's Note:** Thanks again for all the reviews and the lovely **MAZ101** who brought tears to my eyes this weekend. But we aren't going to talk about that…

**Chapter Five: Soul with a Body**

Sam was having a hard time processing what Marcel had said. If he and Dean continued their pursuit, it wasn't Sam that they intended on killing, it was Dean. He'd always counted on his visions, all the warped scenes that played out in his mind, to give him the answers, to be accurate. He'd gotten pieces here and there but not always the entire picture. And the current images he'd seen had shown Dean injured. Not dead.

He had really thought that this one had been about him, though. It had felt more personal. He sighed and rubbed the palm of his hand into his eye socket. Nothing. Nothing was more personal than Dean. He was all Sam had left. Without his brother, Sam… Sam huffed… Sam would crash and burn.

"You okay?" Dean asked from the front seat.

Sam looked over. They'd left the club and met Eva at her house, let her change and then, at her urging, they jumped into her small, nicely affordable Ford so they could scout the location of the dragon's castle and make a plan.

"Fine." Sam said tightly. Tried to let it pass.

But Eva was flashing her eyes at him through the rearview window and Sam had to fold his arms across his chest. Her stare made him feel transparent. Like she could see every truth and every sin he'd ever committed.

If she saw something, though, she wasn't speaking it. Instead, she talked about the back road they were on, how soon it was going to change from cement to gravel. How she and Abbey had been out to Marcel's place a long time ago and the land that he owned was expansive. She said he had mentioned that over the hills, there lay a large brick building that hadn't been inhabited for years. She had forgotten about it until she was getting ready for bed the night before. Thought she should check into it first, make sure it was actually there.

Dean was rambling on about the who's and the why's of the girls that were missing. What did they have in common and what actually happened to them? Sam had listened from the backseat as Eva gave as much as she knew. They'd been all over the board in ages. They'd come from different races. They'd had different colored eyes. Different religions. They'd come from all over the United States.

The only thing that Dean and Eva had agreed on was already known: they were all Drag Queens.

It gave Sam a headache. Still, he was busy picturing the trees again. In his vision, it was night. They weren't together, though, they'd gone separately. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying hard to remember something that was different. The something that he was missing that Dean was the one in danger. That he'd gotten it wrong.

"Tell me about Abbey," Dean was saying. Working the case the only way he knew how: keep it in motion. If they weren't ready to fight it, they would talk it through until they were ready.

Eva's big shoulders shrugged. She didn't have on a wig this time; just her natural, cropped-cut hair. Sam watched her in the mirror. She looked pretty.

"She's great. Much more delicate than I am, smaller. Blonde, but a bit older like me so she's been dyeing it for a few years. She smells great." Everything spoken in the present, Sam noted. Nothing in past tense.

Dean's neck was kinked to the left, listening. "Is Abbey her real name or her stage name?"

"Stage." Eva turned swiftly.

"What's it mean again?"

She smiled sweetly then. Heartbreaking, that smile was. "Abbey Road. She only sings Beatles' songs."

And then they were on the gravel and Eva's car was bouncing down the loose-packed dirt road. Sam gripped the hand rest. Outside, the trees were whizzing by, leaves blowing along the rock as they headed down the open road. And Sam wondered how many more roads were open to him and Dean.

It had come down to Dean. In his life, he'd gotten all his loved ones killed and the small amount of friends they had, well, he always found a way to burn a bridge with them. No, Dean was what it came down to. He was the only person left in the world who whole-heartedly believed in Sam.

And that… that hurt because it scared Sam more than anything. Wondered how worthy he was anymore of having someone believe in him.

"Ringo is her favorite," Eva was saying. Sam's attention spliced back into their conversation. "But as far as the songs go, 'In My Life'… oh, she does it from the heart, boy. She is just…" Eva shook her head, the words gone. Sam watched from the backseat as his brother looked at Eva. He could see Dean's eyes studying her. Saw his throat work up and down and was reminded of something he often forgot: that there are layers upon layers to Dean.

"We're going to do our best to get her back."

Eva nodded and Sam felt his own head nod in response. Dean could be that convincing. Not even talking to him, and Sam was sucked right in. Had no idea where Abbey was and, given the fact that Marcel had said _leave us alone_, Sam was pretty sure Abbey was being digested by a hungry dragon, he still nodded along with Eva. _Yeah_. They were going to do their best to get her Abbey back.

"Well, that's good." Eva cleared her throat. Back in action. "Because I'm not ready to sing any _Good-bye Norma Jean's_ anytime soon."

Dean frowned. "Isn't that Elton John?"

Eva laughed. Throaty and deep. "Yeah," she answered, and Sam saw her wink at Dean. "Yeah, you homophobe, it is. The Queen of all Queens."

"I'm not a..." Dean looked away, out his own window and Sam had to smile.

"Oh, Dean," Eva teased. "I'm only kidding. Don't be such a drag."

Sam's smile morphed into a grin. He listened as Eva sighed and then there was a low hum from the front seat and Sam's eyes flickered from the darkness of the outside back to Eva's head. It took a good twenty seconds for Sam to conclude that she was definitely humming _Candle in the Wind_ in the front seat. She had a fantastic voice, even without words. It was calming and non-intrusive and Sam welcomed it.

"You know Elton and Bernie never even remember writing that song. No one can remember writing the lyrics or the music. They remember writing the title. But the meat? What makes it so juicy, it wasn't even significant enough at the time for either one of them to remember writing it."

Sam chuckled to himself. Eva was that kid who never missed a beat in music class, whether it was a new note to learn or a tidbit on how that note was first created. Reminded him of someone.

"What's that?" Dean asked, jabbed a finger out his window.

Eva slowed down. "I don't know. It's close to where Marcel lives, though."

Sam squinted. He scooted over to get a better look out Dean's side. There was a field of dry, dead weeds, at least two feet high whooshing by so fast it looked like it could be the start of a decent movie. Ticked his head and shoved that aside and then looked out further, above and beyond the weeds, and he could see what Dean was talking about: there was a cloud of dust, spinning independently.

"It's a dust storm," Eva was saying but everything tilted dangerously and Sam blinked to clear his head. Opened his eyes and everything started graying at the edges.

"Dean," he said, but it came out too quiet. Eva's muffler was growling louder than his voice.

A white light cascaded into his vision, slicing like an eclipse between reality and the place where movies were real. Sam reached a blind hand out. "Dean." Felt his fingers hit his brother's coat. The light ripped open then and Sam could see he was back in the dark, trees above him. He could also feel Dean grab hold of his hand at the last second, a worried _Sam?_ slipping from his lips.

Sam looked down. He was holding a fucking gorgeous sword in his hands. Brought it up to his face and looked at it. Engraved. Absolutely beautiful. Had to show this to Dean when he caught up with him. He looked ahead and saw he was walking towards a big brick building. Not many windows. Secluded. Old. Looked like a place that would have a dungeon.

As he approached it, though, he could hear his name being called. He turned to see who it was that had followed him, but he already knew. It was his brother. His brother and Eva and they had been chasing him but now they were both on the ground. Hurt. Sam took a step to go back when he felt something of enormous heat behind him. He swallowed hard and turned to look because he was going to see this bastard. See what they were really dealing with.

That's when the dust hit him. Sam's eyes grew round. He looked back at Dean, but the dust had kicked up behind him and his brother was nowhere in sight. He coughed and gagged, put his hand up to his forehead, held like a blade blocking out the rising dust. Had to shut his eyes again when the heat returned behind him. Turned quickly. But it was too fast and he was too late.

He was falling again. Blood everywhere. Opened his eyes to see blonde curls rushing towards him. Crashed and burned.

He was never going to escape it.

"Sam!" So very Dean. So very real. Sam could feel his brother's fingers digging into his shoulder. Grounding him. Always grounding him. Dragging him away from the horror film and bringing him back to reality. Sam was grateful.

Cracked his eyes opened and blinked rapidly. Adjusted to what had happened since he'd checked out.

Eva had apparently panicked or kept it together, who really knew, either way she was able to pull her car over to the side of the road and throw it into park. It was still running, but Dean had made it to the back passenger door and yanked it open, crawled in and was kneeling in the car, his body in front of Sam, angled oddly, but there.

"You okay?" Dean asked. "What did you see?" Waited a full second. "Are we getting closer to it? What was it?"

_Oh, shut up with the fucking questions_. Sam rubbed his temple, felt Dean's grip tighten. Could suddenly feel the silk of Jessica's hair next to his cheek. Wanted so badly to wake up and be hers again. Took a deep breath and before he released it, her hair had grown darker and it was Madison's infectious smile staring back at him.

"Sam?"

Sam opened his eyes. Stared at his brother. Almost started bawling again.

"What's wrong with him?" Eva asked, but from a distance. Sam wasn't sure if she was on the other side of the car or behind Dean. Could've been through the wheat field and down a rabbit hole for all he knew. He just kept his gaze locked with his brother.

Dean ignored her, though. "You had a vision." Stated it like Sam was confused. _No shit, Sherlock. _"What do you remember?"

Sam tried to smile, but it was fruitless. Not going to dimple his way out of anything tonight. Felt it die before it ever hit his eyes. "Just, what I saw before." Narrowed his eyes so Dean would believe him. "Except, more blood. And dust. I don't remember the dust from before." Told him everything.

Almost.

Dean nodded. Sam saw his throat bob up and down and he had released the death grip he had on Sam's shoulders. His hands were still there, just more comforting than restraining. And, really, Sam was grateful for that, too. He just couldn't seem to find the words to express the sentiment.

"Dust storms always seem to kick up out here in the wheat." Eva again and Sam could kind of see her now, behind Dean, in the shadows of the night. "It's so dry and open. You can sit on the open road and just watch it race itself up and down the field."

"How far is it to Marcel's?" Dean asked, but didn't take his eyes off of Sam.

Eva was pacing on the gravel road, her shoes scuffing against the rock. Sam wondered if she had chosen practical foot wear. Chuckled to himself that he knew she hadn't. She was pointing to the right. "There's another little road up ahead. His house is at the end. About a mile or so up the way."

Sam nodded before Dean even asked. Yes, he could go on. Yes, he wanted to see where this son of a bitch lived. Yes, they still needed a plan.

"Okay," Dean agreed. Released Sam's shoulders and Sam felt himself fall forward a couple of inches. Dean patted his arm. "Scoot over." Swung his hip at him like he had done the night before back at the motel. Sam shuffled to the left, let out a sigh when he felt Dean's weight next to him.

Eva made a sound like she was irritated or touched. She really was a hard read. But she slammed the back door and walked her tight-jeaned ass around to the front and climbed in. She reached her hand up to the rearview mirror; long manicured fingernails readjusted it until she found the right position. She flashed a toothy grin at the boys in the back and said, "Buckle up." Started the car and put it into gear. And then almost giddy, "Jesus Christ. I feel like a soccer mom."

WWW

Eva turned on the side road and the outside seemed to get darker, if that was possible. The light reflecting from the moon off the wheat was gone. Dean squinted. Couldn't even see the dust anymore. And it was quiet.

"What would a dragon be doing with a bunch of Drag Queens?" he asked Sam, kept his voice low, hopefully just a mumble to Eva's ears.

Sam didn't answer right away. His body was slumped against the door, watching the black fly by. Dean waited. Knew Sam was thinking about his words. "In fairytales, what's the purpose of a dragon?"

_Fairytales?_ And Dean was back in his old room in Lawrence, Mom sitting down next to him, Little Golden Book of the Brothers Grimm folded open to his favorite page. He blinked and let that go. Had forgotten that moment. Decided to keep it and brought it back. Tucked it away right then and there, in front of Sam, without him knowing. "Protect a princess."

Sam breathed on the cold glass. "Right." Brought his finger up and traced a Devil's Trap on the condensation his warm air had left behind.

Dean hitched a shoulder. He never had read that story to Sam. That story of two brothers and a princess. "So? None of these guys – girls – are princesses." He paused, thought about it. Elton John, as Eva had mentioned before, was a self-proclaimed Queen. But not a princess. Dean weighed it. Decided he was right: There was no princess to protect.

"What else, then?" Sam asked, his neck quirked towards Dean, eyebrows lifting up. "What else does a dragon protect?"

_What does anything protect?_ Dean wondered. Looked at his brother's coiled expression, trying to _thinkthinkthink_ and Dean whispered, "Family?"

Sam glanced up. Gave him an understanding look. And Dean shrugged. Wished he could say something, though. Something that would make this pain go away.

"I don't think it works like that," Sam replied. "I mean, it's a beast. I don't… we don't even know if there's more than one. God, let's hope there's not more than one."

The outside was growing darker still. Dean turned away, felt the car start to slow as Eva took a corner. The field was gone, giving way to tall trees, branches hanging low, large leaves hanging heavy, begging to fall to the ground. Dean swallowed. Knew that they must be the trees Eva was describing before. Wished they had a plan already.

"There." Eva stopped the car. They were still a great distance away from Marcel's house, but the lights outside were on and the brick was illuminated against the night sky.

"It looks like a building," Sam commented, his body leaning forward. Dean realized his was, too.

"It's not a castle." Dean agreed. Cleared his throat. "It looks like a prison."

"Maybe it is." Sam shifted in his seat, getting a better look. "Or was. Or still is. Maybe the girls are in there. Still alive."

Dean smirked. Didn't make sense. A dragon keeping its victims alive? Why? It was hungry, wasn't it? "Don't get your hopes up." A warning. Eva could certainly hear this conversation. "Maybe Marcel chose a prison to live in to contain the dragon inside."

A long pause and then Sam, bouncing it back to him because that's how Sam worked a case when he didn't have a laptop in front of him. "So you think it's what? Protecting the outside world from the dragon and just… feeding the dragon… dancers?"

"Dragons like princesses," Dean offered. Thought it sounded good. Funny, but good.

"But they're not…" Sam released a hot sigh. Looked at the castle again, hard. "We need a plan. Find out what the hell kills a dragon –"

"Apparently a sword, "Dean reminded him. His voice raising, higher. He was getting passed worried. On to angry. Couldn't help it.

"Find _the_ sword that will kill it." Dean wondered if Sam already knew what sword it was. If he'd already seen it in his dreams. _This_, Dean thought, _this is what makes Sam different._ Licked his lips and retracted that thought. Let it go and didn't bring it back. _Not his fucking fault._ "We need to know more. Like is the dragon protecting anything at all because it sure as hell isn't a princess." He reached down, pulled the handle on the door and stepped out.

Sam climbed out the other end. He glanced over at Dean, met his brother's narrowing eyes. Dean nodded, probably gave Sam some comfort, he figured. "I hear it."

The sound of a dog barking. Loud this time. Not friendly, not this one. This dog was barking a get-the-hell-out-of-here-warning.

"Where are you two going?" Eva called from inside, manicured fingers gripping the wheel for dear life.

Dean bent into the open window, thumbed down the dirt road. "Taking a walk. You stay here. Give us five." Looked at the massive building. "Make that ten," he decided before giving the car door a solid pat.

Sam loped around the front, joined up with his brother without a word and they started a quiet trek up to the perimeter. The building wasn't all brick. A great portion of it was built from stone. Probably by hand. It was cracked and discolored and looked like it had been there for a long, long time.

Dean saw Sam make a gesture. Around to the right and up. Dean tilted his head back and sure enough up ahead on the right was a small window just out of reach. They crept up to the wall and Sam knelt down, gave Dean a shoulder and balance for a decent jump. Damn stone was wet in the night air, though. Dean slid down it like it was a playground slide. Felt the jagged edges slice into his right side. Even the rocks were telling them to turn back now.

"Son of a bitch." Gritted it through his teeth, kept his voice low.

Sam didn't say anything. Just intertwined his fingers together. Ready to hoist his brother up. Eyed a larger stone jutting out above Dean's head, on the left. Dean judged it quickly. Up and grab. He might be able to reach the window.

But he couldn't. Sam was under him, trying hard to steady his weight but the wall was too freaking slippery and the rock just wasn't close enough to give him any leverage. If only they had something else under him, something bigger than Sam, stronger…

And just like that, on the tip of his tongue, there was Eva sidling up next to his brother and pushing her large arms up Dean's leg. Gave him an extra eight inches, at least. Dean's eyes skimmed the base of the window, just enough to see inside: a long hall way in front of him, lit nicely, doors running as far as he could see. Some had locks on them. All had bars. Keeping something in. He squinted, thought he caught a shadow pass by but it was hard to see all of a sudden. The light changed, growing darker. Dean glanced to the left and to the right.

There. One large eye fixed on the top of his head. Dean frowned. It frowned. And as he took in a shallow breath, the beast snorted at him, the hot air from its nostrils flaring a cloud of smoke on the small window.

"Shit!" Dean called down, lost his footing and before he knew it, he was elbowing stones and kneeing rocks until his ass fell flat on the dirt underneath him.

Eva was hovering, offering him a hand, asking if he was okay but Dean pushed up, shoved away and jumped to his feet. "Get to the car!" Sam and Eva stood dumb struck, maybe, trying to figure out what the hell he'd just said. He was yelling faster than normal. Dean pointed up. "Dragon!" he hollered and turned away, running toward Eva's car.

In spite of the small amount of humiliation he felt, Dean didn't look back. Didn't need to. He had spent the early part of his life training to zone in the distinct sound of his brother's footsteps behind him and he knew Eva was right on his heals from the way her thigh-high boots plodded the Earth.

"Oh my God!" Must've been Eva, he suspected. Definitely wasn't Sam. There was a sound that erupted, broke through the air like a roar, but there was nothing animal about it. It was beastly and evil. The smell of fire filled his senses and Dean felt the heat on his back then. The rush of a warm fire turning on itself. No longer contained in a pleasant campfire but instead running wild and angry. All his life, he had to run from fire. Horror filled him. He couldn't help it. He had to look back.

Eva was directly behind him. Followed by Sam. And Sam was running, fists pumping, neck strained, eyes dead ahead, as he outran a raging fire behind him. His hair, his body, his entire being was all aglow against the background of reds and oranges.

And behind Sam, he swore he could see the silhouette of a medium size dog.

Dean heard a familiar _beep-beep_, realized oddly that it was Eva's car alarm and that she was a good girl, thinking ahead. Keys in hand, doors unlocked. Shit, she'd probably have her favorite mix tape cued up in the tape player. They were close.

"Go!" Dean heard Sam breathe, felt hands on his back, pushing him forward as he watched the car magically become visible in the dark. He fumbled, found the handle, gripped and pulled hard, felt almost relived as he dropped into the backseat, Sam directly behind him, shoving him further in.

There wasn't time to catch his breath. It was hard to tell who was breathing when, everyone in the car was gasping for oxygen faster than the person beside them. It hurt listening to the music they all made. Eva had the car started, put it into gear, Cher's _Half-Breed_ harping through the speakers.

Dean felt ill. He watched as Sam slumped against the seat, let his head fall hard onto the cushion, chest rising and falling in super sonic time. Dean supposed his was probably doing the same thing.

_He's psychic… he thinks you're a murderer and he's afraid that he's gonna become one himself, cause you're all part of something that's terrible, and I hope to hell that he's wrong, but I'm starting to get a little scared that he might be right._

Dean blinked. Sam's face softened. _Not gonna be him._

"…the hell outta here…" Eva was saying, the car in reverse, dirt kicking up all around them. Still, he caught it out of the corner of his eye. The thing – the dragon – darting out of sight. Into the shadows of the large building. Letting them get away. It had the power to stop them, if it had wanted. But that wasn't on its agenda. No, Dean thought, this was just an introduction.

"What the hell was that?" Eva shouted, her car tumbling down the road.

Sam swallowed, placed a hand over his heart as he stammered her answer, "Dr-dragon."

"No shit." The dust and dirt sandwiched the car in. Dean had to squint to see out the windows. He felt the power fade from under him as Eva let up off the gas pedal, let the little Ford calm down with her.

Dean cleared his throat, wanted complete control of his voice when he spoke because Sam looked like he was still recovering and Dean didn't really want to think about what Sam was thinking about when that heat hit his backside. He already knew. "Hey." He nudged Sam. Got no response. "I saw cages in there." Waited. Nothing. "What do you think that fucking thing is hiding?" Counted to three without even a whisper. "Or, you know… protecting?"

"Well," came the voice of reason from the front seat and Dean could've kissed Eva right then. On the cheek. "In the movies, what does a dragon protect?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "We've been through this, Eva." This is what happens when the common person works a case with them. It's a constant game of catch-up. "A princess," Dean answered because she would make a big stupid deal about it like she did the chocolates and he wasn't going to go there again. At least, not in front of Sam, catatonic or not.

"No, that's what the dragon eats. What does it protect?" Eva threw her arm over the seat and put the car in reverse again. Dean looked ahead, they were headed straight for a ditch and Eva never even let out a surprised huff or puff.

"It eats princesses?" Dean questioned. "But, if that is true, why don't dragons ever try to eat the princess in the stories?

Eva snorted; her eyes teased him through the rearview mirror. "Virtue. A dragon protects virtue. Or, maybe in this case, it craves it. Maybe it only eats virtuous people. Takes the virtue somehow before it consumes the body. Humans are not a body with a soul. They are a soul with a body."

Dean reached over, placed his hand over his brother's hand, which was still grasping his pounding heart. Sam took a deep breath.

_Virtue?_ Dean shook his head. "There's no such thing, sweetheart." That was a fairytale. Every parent in the world tells himself or herself that story. It's all make-believe, though. "Nobody is virtuous." At least, not by choice.

"Yeah," Sam piped in. He brushed Dean's hand away, picked at his shirt like it was too sticky. "Really, Eva. I doubt a dragon would be concerned with decency. And the girls that are missing, they aren't exactly, you know, virgins."

There was a pregnant pause as Eva's car curved around a turn in the road. Through the dark and the trees, Dean concentrated out the window, wondered how many people had wandered out in these fields to have sex. Then wondered about how many bodies were secretly buried in such an open space. He sighed and waited for the fields of wheat.

"Abbey is."

"What?" Sam asked, surprised.

"Abbey's a virgin. I mean, if you look at it a certain way." Eva kept her eyes peeled on the road, her hands palming the steering wheel. "The thing is, she has never been with a woman. She always brags about how she has never ever kissed a woman before. She's only been with…" shoulders lifted. "Men."

Dean smirked. Released something that resembled a snicker. "That's not a –" Stole a look at Sam for help. But realized quickly that Sam was actually considering this as a possibility. "That doesn't count as being a virgin." Dean stated. "Didn't you guys pay attention in high school biology? There's a whole section about it."

"Well," Eva batted her eyes at him through the rearview mirror. "The sex is different. I'm just saying maybe the dragon is liberal. Or conservative. I don't know – it has a particular taste."

"Picky," Sam chimed in.

And Dean rolled his eyes again, caught sight of the wheat, but the light from the moon wasn't bouncing off it like before. The dust had kicked up and was swirling in a funnel. Dean watched it twist and turn, following them down the road in a tornado type chase. It kept its distance, though, wanting to be seen, but not noticed. Didn't want the attention.

Dean was about to give up on it when two eyes blinked back at him.

"Holy shit!" Dean exclaimed and his left arm flew into the air, his hand grabbing at Sam's collar. He could feel Sam turn to him as Dean pulled him over and pointed out the window. He was certainly losing his mind, seeing things, hallucinating. But as he peered out the glass, Sam's face next to his staring out the window, the dust coiled and rolled and danced closer to the car. Seeking the seeker now. Wanting the attention. It spun dangerously close to the passenger side and bent its form over. Two eyes smiled at what it saw.

Sam gasped and pulled back. Dean felt the car slide to the left and Eva was shouting incoherently from the front seat. She didn't slow down, though. Instead she pressed her foot to the floor and the car started to fishtail in the gravel. Dean could feel his body swerve from side to side and just as he opened his mouth up to tell Eva to slow it down, the car started to lose speed.

"What the hell was that?" Eva shouted, her hand turning the steering wheel to the left and then hard to the right. Keeping them on the road. It was a tough day for a soccer mom.

"It's a Sylph." Sam sat up taller and Dean felt his heart sink.

"Son of a bitch." Of all the shit to run into. Because with the Winchesters, luck wasn't something that brought lottery tickets and happy Christmases. Oh, no. Winchester luck brought hungry, mythological dragons – which weren't even supposed to exist – that were being holed up in a prison being fed virgin drag queens – and were being guarded by a fucking Sylphid.

"What is it?" Eva asked, the car still moving, but at a slower speed and Dean knew she was having a hard time seeing the road in front of her now. It was going to stop them one way or another.

"It's kind of like a fairy," Sam answered, which was true and not. It was more like a cross between a fairy and a spirit. Nasty things, wanting nothing more than to cause pain. And not usually in the physical sense. But they came with a purpose. Whether it was to gain knowledge, to gain strength, or to gain leverage. Dean felt the car slow and finally come to a stop. The Sylphid was swirling around in mad circles now, blinding their view and it wouldn't stop until someone excited the vehicle. He knew it wouldn't play favorites between any of the car's occupants. The Sylph already knew who was in the car and it knew regardless of who it interacted with, it would choose one side: it's own.

"Is it Marcel?" Eva turned to look at the brothers from the front seat and Dean could see her dark eyes blink quickly. She was scared.

Dean remembered Marcel's tat and the tail of the dragon. It was coiled like a funnel cloud. He glanced back out the window. The Sylph had stepped back, had grown taller as it pulled its contents in tighter and something that resembled a limb extended from its body, waved for someone to get out. A friendly gesture, beckoning.

Its eyes, however, were furrowed and Dean could see from his position that although its hands were being let's-play-catch-playful, its eyes were saying something else. His hand gripped the door handle and he yanked back.

"Wait." Sam spoke from beside him. "I'll go."

_What was he joking?_ Dean shook his head. "Sam –"

"Then we go together."

You go. I go. Dean considered that. Couldn't kill a Sylph. At least, not in this form. Had to outsmart it. Two heads were better than one. Dean craned his neck. "Keep your hands to yourself. Don't try to touch it." Looked away and back again. "You know not to ask or answer it questions, right?"

Sam nodded, grabbed the other door handle.

"It's going to know things about you…" Shook his head. Bad idea. Sam going out in this. The shit this thing could throw at his brother. "But you can't let it get to you. You gotta let it slide off your back."

Sam stared, eyes locked tight. He nodded once. "You, too, man."

Dean blinked. _Dad said I might have to kill you, Sammy._ "I know." Wondered for a fleeting moment if Sam knew that the Sylphid couldn't lie. That it could tell them exactly what their heart desired. That that's how it could kill a person. Swallowed. Hoped Sam didn't notice in the dark.

"What the hell do I do?" Eva asked, watching intently, nervous.

The Sylph whipped its tail, smacked into the car door. Knocked.

"Just keep the motor running." Dean answered as he pushed on the door and felt the immediate change in temperature as he stood in the middle of the road.

Wished to Hell Sam had just stayed in the fucking car.

WWW

The wind wrenched the door from Sam's hands and he was unable to shut it behind him. Felt bad about that because he needed to keep Eva as safe as possible. Figured she'd have enough sense to reach the door and close it herself.

He looked up, over the top of the car, and saw the top of his brother's head disappear into the churning dust and sand. He opened his mouth to shout at Dean to wait up but as he rounded the car, Dean wasn't in his sights any longer.

"Winchester." It spoke and Sam's skin crawled. The voice was low and menacing and held an edge of _monster_ to it. Reminded him immediately that this thing was not human. That it may never have been. Sam shifted his weight from left to right, drew in a deep breath and filled his lungs, letting his chest expand in a threatening alpha-male way. Scared off lots of high school pranksters this way. "You're a long way from home," it continued. Sam squinted. Lawrence. It knew where he was from. The only place he and Dean considered home.

"Depends where you consider home."

Sam blinked. That was Dean's voice. He looked at the Sylphid. No eyes were staring down at him. He was facing its rear, its tail whipping from side to side, keeping him back.

"Kansas." The thing responded. "Home of the Wicked Witch of the West. And the East." Cackled or released what could only be described as a laugh. "But you're here now."

"That I am."

_Shit._ Sam took a step to his left but was met with a pounding of dust and filth, kicking up in his face, caking his hair. "Dean!" he shouted, but the thrashing sand muted his voice.

"I wonder why you have come here." Not really a question, Sam noted. Hoped that Dean would be careful in his exchange with the creature.

There was a pause and then Dean's voice, "I think you already know. My brother and I are hunters."

"Hunting a dragon." It observed. "You think you are a righteous enough man to kill a dragon?"

It waited and Sam ran to the other side of the Sylph, tried to warn Dean that he could hear him and that that was a question and not to answer it. The dust kicked up, halted Sam in his tracks, his arms coming up to cover his head and he backed away, coughing and gagging.

"I didn't know you had to be righteous," Dean said.

Sam sucked in a breath, tried again to shout, but the tail lunged at him, debris entering his lungs and it took him to his knees.

"Oh, yes. You must be righteous. It's a pre-requisite." The thing swayed. "I'm not so sure cutting the head off an innocent vampire would be considered righteous."

Sam choked, felt his windpipe start to close up.

"Then I guess I won't be killing the dragon."

"Guess not." It waited again. But this time, it turned part of its body. Made room through the dust for a small window to appear to Sam. A foggy version of his brother on the other side of the opening, standing still, smiling at the thing.

"Maybe your brother is the dragon slayer."

And Sam could see a vein in Dean's jaw jump. But the thing didn't notice or if it did, it didn't pull it out of its hat.

"Maybe." Dean steeled his gaze. Mask pulled on tight. Sam wasn't sure what to make of it.

"And maybe you are your brother's slayer."

Sam felt sucker-punched. A hard right to the gut –never saw it coming – hit him where he kept all his built-up guilt stored. He fell to his hands, tried desperately to suck in enough air to holler to Dean because what Sylph was offering was something neither he nor his brother was capable or handling right now.

If ever.

He was rewarded for his efforts with another mouth full of dirt. Gasping for air now, he could feel his eyes water, knowing it was from pure exhaustion. It was getting hard, so hard to catch his breath.

The window between he and his brother magically readjusted itself just for Sam's viewing pleasure.

"You think about that one, don't you?" The creature danced around the question. "Are you going to save him or are you going to kill him?" Waited, amused with itself. "Keeps you up at night."

"Sam?" Dean called out and Sam wanted to answer, wanted to let Dean know that he could _hear_ him. But the Sylph wasn't allowing it. It wasn't playing fair. This was a trick and this two-bit spirit-fairy wasn't trying to help either of them, it was trying to hurt both of them. Let them give it their hearts so it could bring on sweet death.

Dean shuffled on the other side. Mumbled something that Sam couldn't hear over the noise of the Sylphid. And Sam knew then that his brother was contemplating the offer. Was thinking about if the knowledge outweighed the risk. And, oh, what a weight it all was.

"Yeah," Dean said. "That keeps me up at night."

An admission. But not a question. Sam spit out a fork full of dirt. Noticed off to his right a brown and white dog staring at him. Sam stared back at it. Put his hand out, keeping the dog back, restraining it the only way he could.

"So." The Sylphid spun its tail, whisked it around Dean, bringing him closer somehow. In return, it threw a cloud of dirt and pebbles at Sam. The dog disappearing in the blur. "What is it that you want to know?"

Dean swallowed, his body stilled, but his eyes lowered and seemed to drift through the opening. Sam snatched onto the moment and lifted himself higher.

"I wanted to know…" Dean hesitated, considered something neither Sam nor the Sylph was privy to. "How… how would I kill a dragon?"

The Sylphid sprang back in what could only be described as agony. Hurt and betrayed at the ill usage of its powers. Any and every question on the table, the truth no matter what it was asked and this is what Dean Winchester had on his mind: a hunt? The creature coiled tightly and splattered his displeasure in Sam's direction. It swelled from the inside and climbed into the air, bent low to Dean and answered him: "You would not kill a dragon. It is not yours to kill." Kicked more debris towards its backside and released an inhumane cackle once again.

Sam was falling back to the ground, knees swollen and sore. His eyes were blinded by the dust and dirt, tears falling down his cheeks unchecked, choking on his own breath. He was drowning. Drowning in a sea of mucky earth.

"I'd think you'd rather like to know about your father." The Sylph could've been smiling. Said it like it was. "Did he die for you? Or you for him? Because there doesn't seem to be a whole lot of life left in your body anymore. And as for your brother…" The creature stopped. Sam felt like it was turning around to look at him. "If he wants to kill the dragon, he best bring better questions than you did when he shows up for the job."

It bowed or curtseyed or did whatever politically correct thing a Sylphid does and excused itself for the night, leaving behind a flogging of debris whipping in the atmosphere, blanketing the space between the brothers. Thick and cold.

"You stupid ass." Sam felt hands on his arms, tugging his body up. "Couldn't figure out how to get out of the way of a dust storm." Nails dug deep into his armpit and he would've yelped, if only he had enough air.

"Is he okay?" Definitely Dean. And he was running. Sam tried to open his eyes but they were matted shut and the slightest movement caused tiny particles to jar loose and crumble against his irises, itching and scratching.

Still, he was in motion. Being half-carried, half-dragged to the car and thrown into the back. "I swear to God," Eva's voice clipped irritated, through the haze. "You two are so fucked up. I don't know how either of you save anybody."

Sam's body sprawled lifelessly across the backseat. He turned in on himself, trying to catch his breath, if only for a few seconds. Felt like he'd just gone twelve rounds with Holyfield. The door opened and the cushions bowed as new weight joined him in the back. An arm was swung over his chest and he had to readjust himself to allow Dean room.

Eva sighed heavily. Her voice was exasperated as she bit out, "And I just cleaned the goddamn upholstery."

Sam felt the car rock as Dean shifted and his head was being laid down. The smell of leather filled his sinuses. A thumb moved back and forth against his forearm.

It was like driving with a five year old with a license all of a sudden. Eva half-turned around to the backseat. "What just happened? What is that thing? And, oh my God! Did you see that fire?" Eva babbled. "Now, that was _red_! I swear…"

He was sure she eventually finished her jibber-jab sentence and then some but Sam had slipped away from the conversation and was greeted with black.

**Playlist:  
><strong>_Candle in the Wind _aka _Good –Bye, Norma Jean_ hummed by Eva Destruction, originally performed by Sir Elton John

_Half-Breed_, performed by Cher

-TBC-


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One

**Author's Note:** I'm posting this a day earlier than normal to stay on a Monday-Wednesday-Friday schedule.

This chapter should conclude the chapters that I wrote immediately following my cancer surgery back in February. Like I said, I've been working on this story for a long time. And back then I was feeling a little snappy so if you feel that bite, don't let it scare you. The last couple of the chapters should weave in a little love in here and there. Also, I started this story prior to ever knowing SPN was going to do an episode on Dragons. In my story, because I don't have a budget to work with, you may find that my Dragon is a little different than theirs.

And if you're a Hawaii 5-0 fan, my awesome beta **MAZ101** has a couple of great stories on her page! Thanks, Mate! I adore you! As always, I've tweaked here and there. All mistakes are mine.

**Chapter Six: Keep Calm and Carry On**

Sam wasn't sure what had woke him. But as he opened his eyes, he realized right away that he wasn't back at the motel. This bed was too soft and there were at least ten pillows – throw, decorative, standard, pink, sequined, laced, you name it – fluffed around his body. His arms were propped up, there was a glass of water on the nightstand, a cool washcloth gracing his forehead, the smell of lavender was everywhere, and an autographed picture of Kathy Griffin was taped on the ceiling, smiling down at him.

He was in a Drag Queen's bed.

It was still dark outside. At least, it was dark in the bedroom. But there was a faint light spilling in from the door. Sam pulled his head up from the mound of pillows and felt an immediate pain radiate from the base of his skull down his back. He hissed in a breath.

_Oh, yeah. The Sylphid. Fucking little bastard_. He brought his hand up to his head and rubbed. Hurt.

"Oh, that?"

Sam let his head fall back into the soft embrace of the pillows. He stayed still. Could hear Eva's voice, thick and sweet, rumble in through the open entrance. "That's a picture of my father and me. I think I was about eight."

If he tilted his head to the right, Sam could catch the small opening from the bedroom into the living room in the crack of the door. There was a card table set up not far from the bedroom and if he stayed right where he was, he could see Eva's body enter the small space as she placed a card down and when it was Dean's turn, he could see his brother's arms. Sometimes he could see parts of Dean's face. He looked entertained. Worried, but entertained.

And they were listening to Elton John. Sam smirked. Dean playing cards with a Drag Queen listening to the soothing sounds of the Queen of all Queens.

_Someone saved my life tonight, Sugar Bear_

_You almost had your hooks in me, Didn't you Dear?_

_You nearly had me roped and tied…_

"What happened to your dad?" Dean asked. Took a swig from a beer bottle. Sam watched him place it back down on the table.

"Oh, honey," Eva teased. The sound of a lighter flicked and quick puffs followed. "You don't mind if I smoke do you?" she asked and Sam figured Dean must have shaken his head because he could hear a long, audible drag taken on the stick. When Eva spoke again, her voice was deeper, more masculine, but still thick with playfulness. "My father is dead."

Dean was silent for a few seconds. Laid down a card, took another. "I kind of figured that. I mean, how? You said…" Dean shifted in his chair. "… in your act, you said, you're dad was dead."

"Uh-huh." Eva kept smoking. "Chasing the dragon."

"What does that mean?"

The corners of Sam's mouth tipped up. Dean knew exactly what that meant. He just wanted to be sure that what he thought it meant matched up with what Eva thought that meant.

"He was a drug addict," she answered. "Heroin."

Dean's head bobbed into the open space. Nodding. "That's what I figured you meant."

"What? You think my dad died chasing a real dragon?" Eva choked out a laugh. "Oh, he'd come home after a real wild night and my mom she'd warn him if he didn't let that dragon go, it'd be the death of him. But, you know, she was talking about the drugs. Not a…" Eva sighed. "Believe me, girl, today was the first day I've ever seen a _real_ dragon."

Dean was quiet but Eva laughed so hard that Sam felt his dimples deepen. _Girl_.

The slap of another card. "So it's just you then. No mother, no father. No siblings."

Eva's turn. Sam watched her hand slowly enter the frame, took a card and turned it so only she could see it. "Hmm… well, my father had a family before us. He had a wife and four kids and then just left them one night. Eventually, he hooked up with my mother, had me, left her and died alone. I've never taken the time to find any of my brothers and sisters, though. And I never really gave a shit about my father."

More sipping of beer and smoking and then Dean softly said, "If you didn't give a shit, you wouldn't have kept the picture."

_Gotcha_, Sam thought because Dean was that good. But the smile he was holding on to faded.

"He committed suicide in the end. Set himself on fire in an empty barn. Burned the whole damn thing down with him." A heavy silence followed that admission. "What about you, Buttercup?" Eva challenged. "You don't seem to be living in the suburbs with a wife and two kids, waiting for mom and dad to come over for Sunday dinner."

_Buttercup?_ Sam made a mental note of that one to use later.

"Believe me, if I did live that kind of life, I highly doubt my dad would've come over for Sunday dinner." Said without emotion. No heat, no sadness. And that surprised Sam.

A pain radiated quickly and without warning down Sam's temple to his shoulder. Twisted there for a couple of heartbeats. Sam bit his lip. Waited it out. Stayed quiet.

"What about your dad, then?" Eva asked. "Your mom died in a fire. What about your dad?" She paused. Sam saw a wine glass tilt up and down. "And tell me he's alive. Please don't tell me the boogey man got him. I don't know if my heart –"

"Demons. My parents were both killed by demons." Dean's voice was just above a whisper, Sam had to strain to catch it. For a split second, Sam wondered if his brother's voice was kept low for Sam's sake. Not to disturb him or to keep the disclosure away from Sam's ears. Hurt him somewhere deep down, somehow, and Sam wasn't sure why.

"So we're just a bunch of orphans, huh?" She was quiet. "How long for you guys?"

Dean must've been shaking his head. Sam sensed some sort of movement. "Not long."

"Well, I'm not looking forward to the holidays. I mean, there's nothing worse than parentless children on Christmas morning. You may as well move the turkey over so you can fit your head in the oven."

Dean chuckled. It was sad, though.

"Really, though? Your parents were killed by… was it _the_ devil?" Eva asked, sitting on the edge of her seat, Sam could see.

"No. Not the devil. Demons are different. They kind of work for the devil. If there is such a thing." Another swig from the bottle. Set back down. Close to empty.

"You don't believe in the devil? Huh." Her voice held a hint of surprise. "Do you believe in God?"

Sam couldn't see it, but he knew Dean was shaking his head. It was quiet out there. Hell, it was quiet in the bedroom. Another jolt of pain stabbed down the back of his head and Sam felt his throat clog. He really just wanted the pain to stop. Either the one in his head or the one in his heart.

"I do." Eva finally said. "I look around and, I mean I know there's bad out there, but all the good and the beauty… I just can't believe it happened by chance. It just seems like something somewhere had to orchestrate it." Oh, her voice was warm. When she spoke from her heart, Eva sounded like she was singing an opera. Sam lay still, he could understand how somebody like Dean could be friends with somebody like Eva.

"Well, Sam and me… we haven't always had a lot of God's blessings bestowed upon us. If you know what I mean."

Sam blinked. He knew what he meant. But, still…

"Maybe you're each other's blessings." Eva's hand hovered over the deck, slowly she took a card. Waiting. Sam knew that waiting.

"Or maybe we're each other's curse."

Hot tears danced without warning from Sam's eyes and absorbed quickly into the pink pillow behind him. He sniffed and the pain rocketed again.

"Well," Eva continued, "you normally don't want to save something you're cursed to have."

Sam closed his eyes. Wanted this to just stop already. How much had Dean told Eva about them? Knew this was unfair, eavesdropping on his brother. It was different than with the Sylphid, though. With Eva, Dean seemed eager to talk to her. Why, Sam wondered, why was it so easy for Dean to talk to outsiders and not to his own brother? Thought about the irony is his thoughts when Sam couldn't talk to anybody at all. Jealous, he guessed of Dean's ability to open up to somebody.

He could hear a bottle of beer being set on the table. Full, probably cold. Sam wiped his eyes. Cussed himself out for being such a fucking wuss.

"What do you need to save him from? Is something after him?"

Dean laughed then. "Something wants him." Soft and sad again, words fuzzy with liquor. But not wasted. Just Dean on the edge of tipsy. "But, yeah, I'll do whatever it takes." There was the _glug-glug_ of a bottle being poured. Sam knew it wasn't into a glass, though, it was down Dean's throat.

"Whatever it takes?" Eva egged him on.

"To save him."

Sam tilted his head again, could see through the opening: Dean's fingers on his bottle, Eva's fingers on her wine glass. Very different people. Yet, stranger-to-stranger, they were becoming friends. And Sam knew that that just didn't happen very often for any of them.

"I have a feeling," Eva tapped her nails on the table, "that you and your brother have things after you that I could never wrap my head around."

A fractured laugh. "Sweetheart, you have no idea."

"Darling, why is it I am always drawn to the people who are full of dents and damaged? Just like my shoe collection. I swear, just once, it'd be nice to meet someone who came from a nice, happy middle class family." Eva sighed. "I guess they just don't exist. But you and Sam…" Her voice turned, empathetic. "I'm sure the road so far has been difficult."

Sam swallowed. Wished badly that he wasn't there any longer, cooped up in this outlandish bedroom, wanting to run, get on the road, and leave it all behind. Kicked his foot out, felt the pain burn up his left side and almost whimpered in response. Sucked in a breath and remembered why he was here. Why he didn't get up and do those things. Not going to leave. Not again. Not ever again.

"But you've survived it together," Eva said it like she was smiling. Probably was. "Whatever is to come, I have a feeling that you'll survive it again. Together."

"Thought you said it doesn't end well for any of us."

Dean always with the negative. Sam shook his head.

Eva took a drink. "I can be wrong about some things, can't I? I'm not the psychic one. I've never had a vision about anything else before in my life!" Her voice raised, but it was to make a point. Not out of anger.

And Sam lay on the bed, yo-yoing again. He wanted more, because if Eva knew he had special abilities, then she had learned this from Dean, and Sam didn't know how his brother felt about him anymore. He didn't know where they were with each other. That frightened him more than any dragon or any secret plans Yellow Eyes had in store for him.

"I told him I was tired," Dean confessed. "A while back… I told him I was just tired of the job. Of the way we live. But… I can't out run it and I – I just don't know how much more I can give."

Sam's heart sped up, cracked against his ribcage and most likely broke, he wasn't sure. He believed Dean wanted more than this. Wanted to see what other scary things were in the world besides monsters and demons. _I had a life once_, Sam thought. He felt his eyes sting again.

Somewhere in the dark and the pink-feathered boas, Sam heard Eva say, "You give what you get. And all you can do is hope it's all been worth it." A long pause and then, "You love him, don't you?"

Sam turned away, his body curled into a tight ball. He hugged the comforter between his arms and his chest, wished he could just knock himself out. Mom and Dad and Jess and Madison. Tally them up. Check them off the list. Whatever – whomever – he touched. Dead and six feet under. It was hopeless, this fight. The whole goddamned thing was fucking hopeless. And if Dean saved him, Sam breathed… shit, he'd probably lose Dean, too.

"There's so much between us," Dean's voice caught, but he paused, cleared his throat and salvaged what remained. "Sometimes it's just so hard to keep calm and carry on."

Sam squeezed his eyes shut. Wished he could get up and make it better but he was too broken and Dean was too lost and together they weren't stronger, they were just more screwed up.

He heard the sound of a chair being pushed back and Dean's heavy steps on the wood floor, shuffling with Eva's large but lighter steps. There were the sounds of dishes being gathered and bottles clinking together. A murmur from Dean, asking if she wanted any help and a refusal. Eva was going into a good-natured rant then about boys and not being able to pick up their messes correctly anyways.

Sam's eyelashes fluttered and he could see Dean standing in the doorway, right side pressed against the frame, staring at him.

"You straight boys think all you have to do is wink and smile… get out of doing all the house work. Good thing you're my guest." She was teasing him, voice lighthearted.

Dean didn't respond. Shadows moved and a hint of a spark from the living room made it just possible for Sam to catch Dean's eye movements in the dark.

"I ask you a direct question and you don't even bother to answer me." She stopped, paused. "You hear me, doll face? I asked you a question." Must have gotten used to Dean not answering her. She was a quick one, that Eva. More dishes piled on one another and she trotted off into another room.

Sam blinked long and slow. Met Dean's eyes. Longed for words. Knew that they weren't going to go anywhere tonight. That they were stuck here in Eva's house, stuck with a thankless job that neither knew how to break away from, stuck shoulder to shoulder with all the roads in the world open to them. Not knowing which one would lead them home.

_I'm not all right. Not at all. But neither are you. That much I know._

"You want to watch some TV?" Eva sped by the opening. On to another task.

"Yeah, sure," Dean said. Flat and bored. "Indiana Jones on or something?"

"Oh, so you'll answer questions about TV."

Sam could see Dean swallow. His eyes drifted somewhere between the floor and his soul, but then they stopped and fastened on Sam. He released a heavy sigh. "Of course I love him." And those words were said purposefully in the dark and so gently that only Sam could hear them.

WWW

Dean woke up the next morning with a decent sized headache. Not a hangover. Just the kind of headache where your head feels blown up, like a balloon, detached from your body and yet hanging on by a string.

He rubbed the palm of his hand into his eyes until he saw stars. Sat himself up on a black velvet sofa, sitting in a black and white living room. Rubbed his eyes again. Yup. Those were definitely a collection of Holiday Barbie Dolls staring at him. Enclosed in a china cabinet no less.

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Clothes designed by Bob Mackie," he read to himself. _Jesus Christ. That's scary_. He pushed off the couch and walked a few steps. Just the awkward motion of standing and walking made him dizzy and he had to stop.

God, his head hurt.

That's when he heard the sound of typing. He turned around and sees Sam nestled in Eva's little dining room – what did she call it? That's right – a nook. Sam was nestled in Eva's nook, sipping on coffee – must have made it himself – and typing on her home computer.

Dean's head felt like it was going to explode. Right out his eye socket, blood splattering all over 2001 Barbie. He shrugged. Could use some Tylenol and there was something that looked like a medicine cabinet right above Sam. He shuffled over, reached above his brother's body and – Yahtzee! – Tylenol! He popped the top and threw three back. Grabbed Sam's cup of coffee and washed them down.

That got a look. A scowl. And then Sam went back to typing.

Dean thought about peeing. Then thought slumping down on the chair next to Sam might be a smarter move. Peeing usually required standing for a small period of time. Dean didn't think he was ready to balance himself this early in the morning.

Sam, on the other hand, had his head buried in the computer screen like he'd been awake for at least four hours and it was only… 7:26. Dean yawned. He really did like watching Sam do the job. _Don't tell me you don't like it._ He stretched his arms over his head. Needed caffeine. "You make more coffee?"

_Taptaptap_. Sam's gaze shifted over for a second. "Eva made it."

Dean waited. Rubbed his forehead. Apparently that was all Sam had to say. Not the usual _blahblahblah_ shit that came out of his mouth.

"Where is she?"

"Who?" Didn't look up.

Who did he think? "Cher."

Sam smiled then. Quick and childlike. "She's in the sunroom."

Dean leaned forward. "There's a sunroom?"

"There is." Sam nodded. "And in that sunroom is a little 19 inch black and white television set where she watches Richard Simmons _Sweatin' to the Oldies_ and she works out with him. In a hot pink leotard." He stopped typing and looked over at Dean. "It has a thong. You know, up her… you know."

Dean shivered. "Jesus."

"Tell me about it." Sam went back to his typing. "There's coffee in the French press in the kitchen."

Dean pushed off the chair. "In the what?"

"It's a fancy coffee pot, Dean. You'll find it."

He did. Poured himself a cup and used some of the expensive looking, International cream that was sitting out. Picked up the coffee cup, noticed it had a naked woman on one side and on the opposite was scripted, _I perform all my own stunts_. He rolled his eyes and rejoined Sam.

What a waste of time that was. Sam didn't even acknowledge his presence. Dean thought about the day before. He hadn't done anything in particular to piss his brother off. Must just be waking up and realizing that once again, he had woken up a Winchester. That was enough to put anybody in a sucky mood.

Dean was through with his quick mental survey and observations. Enough of this shit. Just cut to the chase. "You mad at me or something?"

Sam's eyes flicked up and back. "If I was mad at you, I wouldn't have told you about Eva's workout routine and would've just let you walk in there all by yourself."

"Then why are you acting all…" Dean rotated his shoulders. "Mad?"

Sam laughed, sarcastic but spongy, if there was such a thing. It made Dean frown. "I got beat up by a Sylph last night, Dean. I've taken two showers so far this morning and I'm still shaking pebbles out of my hair. I ran out of towels so I tried to escape back to the bedroom… naked… and was caught by Eva in her leotard."

Dean couldn't help it. He smiled. Big as a Montana sky. "What did she say?"

He watched Sam swallow. Nervous, eyes looked quickly to the left. "She said… " Sam's voice raised an octave. "'Well, sugar lips, that sure does have personality, doesn't it?'"

Dean snorted. Oh, but his head felt better.

"Stop it." Sam brought his arms closer together. "I was afraid she was going to try and have a conversation with it."

Tears pierced Dean's eyes as he laughed. He pinched his finger and thumb into his corner sockets to stop himself from crying. Crossed his legs. Damn, he really had to pee now.

"Remember hearing the dog last night?"

Dean took in a deep breath. He remembered the barking. Remembered seeing the fucking dog chasing after them. It was brown and white. And it was snarling right along with the reds and the oranges of the fire hunting them all. "Yeah."

"You ever heard of a drag hunt?"

He quirked an eyebrow. That could mean a lot of things. "No." Sipped his coffee.

"Well," Sam folded his hands, gave Dean his undivided attention. Felt kind of nice, somehow. Maybe he really wasn't mad. "Hunters take a dog – normally a foxhound or a beagle – give them a scent and then they follow the dog until they lead them to where ever the hunted is."

"Yeah, okay? Where's this going, dude? I gotta take a leak."

Sam put a hand out – palm forward. He just needed a minute. "That dog that we heard barking. Dean, it was on my tail. I got a good look at it. It was a brown and white foxhound. And I'm pretty sure it was chasing a scent."

Dean's mouth twitched. He decides that Sam isn't mad at him. Takes him this long to decide it. Wonders why. Where are they? And why can't they go forward? "Your scent?" Sipped on his coffee again to hide his grimace. _Not his fault. He didn't ask for this._

But , the thing was, it wasn't Dean's fault, either.

"No. Not mine." Sam paused, licked his lips and Dean sighed. Intentional. Dean looked up. "Not mine," Sam repeated, eyes locked and loaded. "I think its Eva's. I think it's literally a _drag hunt_."

"What? Like, you think that this dog is trained to find virgin drag queens?"

Sam ran his hand through his hair. "I heard barking way back at the billboard when we arrived the first night. And yesterday, I'm sure I heard it in the fields next to the club. I bet if you start walking in those wheat fields near Marcel's, sooner or later it'll lead you to _Knuckers_."

Dean tipped his head, studied Sam for a minute. He looked like a train wreck and Dean felt like kicking himself that he has just now noticed. Felt his stomach pitch. "You dream about it again last night?" It came out a little bitter, but he was done and he wanted to know.

A hitch of a shoulder. "Yeah, but…"

Dean had to place a hand on the computer table. Felt all wobbly inside. Sam's eyes tracked his movements. "I didn't see anything new." His voice wasn't right. It was all-tight and thick like when he's about to cry or avoiding something.

"You sure?" Doesn't believe him, but he'll give him one more shot. Sam and all his goddamn omissions. Half the truth is still a full lie, Sam. But Dean doesn't say anything because Sam gives him information like Dad used to: need to know on a need to know basis. And Sam is one stubborn son of a bitch so they get nowhere.

But Sam wavers because unlike Dad, Dean has some sway over him. There's something protective, something sad about the look in his brother's eyes that reminds Dean of another time. He strokes the coffee mug, recalls the other night, Sam trembling in his arms. Remembers the _Her _spoken fresh from the heart. So raw. "She isn't going to be there, Sammy. You know that, right?" Locks eyes, hold there for a long breath. "This isn't… this isn't about…" Feels honestly sorry that he has to go this far. Wishes he'd gone here earlier. "It's not about Jessica."

Sam turns on him then. Insulted. "Fuck you, Dean." It's quick and venomous. And it causes pain and swelling, which is the point. Sam goes back to his typing and drag hunt hunting.

Dean gives him a minute, tries to think of something to make this better, and when he can't think of anything and gets nothing more from Sam, he shakes his head.

"Whatever, prick. I gotta pee anyway."

WWW

They had a plan. Dean didn't like it, it wasn't their best plan, but Sam and Eva had out voted him. The only thing that they seemed to agree upon was the first part of their plan: Go to the club and talk to Marcel. Find out for sure –Was he a demon? Or was he something more powerful? Was his tattoo maybe just a small version of the dragon and all they had to do was stab him in his arm and the dragon would go away? Yeah, they were all in agreement – the plan was a little lame but it had to start with Marcel.

It was Saturday night and Saturdays at the club were ass grabbing, 50-dollar stuffing busy. There were three shows and Eva was only on call for the last one. It didn't start until after 1 a.m. and was forty-five minutes of pure Eva. Tonight was a big deal tonight, she had explained to the brothers, there was a talent scout coming from Las Vegas just to see her. He had managed a number of top performers, including Barry Manilow and Wayne Newton. This was like the Pope coming to visit a hopeful Priest. For a Drag Queen this scout was a big fucking deal.

The club was bouncing when they walked in, Eva in all her glory, leading the Winchesters in through the back way. Someone was on stage, performing. She had a red Mohawk and barely any clothes on. Dean noticed Sam staring at her longer than he should. Dean, however, easily found Marcel laughing in the crowd. He pushed forward.

"Hey, ass hat," Dean started but Marcel turned around with a shit eating grin on his face. He looked immediately beyond Dean and laid fond eyes on the star of his show.

"Eva!" he exclaimed, waved her closer, "This is Mr. Hale, from Las Vegas. He's traveled here tonight to see you."

Well, that did it. Eva melted. She elbowed Dean out of the way, extended her hand and was selling herself before the dude ever had the chance to hear her sing. All the while, Marcel sipped on a glass of water, eyed Dean and Sam up close and personal. They glared back. Couldn't really open up a full on exorcism in a place packed with so many people. Couldn't open fire, either. All they could really do was just observe.

He was balding. Hadn't noticed that before. Yesterday he seemed to have so much more hair. Maybe a wig, everyone in the joint wore one. But he had muscles growing out of other muscles and the tat on his arm was indeed a deep purple colored dragon, outlined in blue. It had a spiraled tail, like a spring, and fired shot out from its mouth, climbing up Marcel's arm.

It was small, but as they say, quite impressive.

Sam was closer and his height gave him a little more advantage and power so Dean let him try and get Marcel to talk, but the man ignored them, choosing instead to keep his focus on the agent and Eva.

"Eva is our s-star," he was saying. She smiled, but it was forced. "I'm hoping that once you see her perform tonight, that you'll be interest-sted in investing some money with us-s. Get some more girls here – some girls with more talent than is at my fingertips." Laughed at himself. "Some girls-s who are more… refined."

Dean frowned, noticed Sam did the same thing. Marcel was looking to join forces with other drag queen shows to get a better clientele? A juicier one, perhaps? How hungry was this dragon?

"Eva is a good friend." Marcel gestured to her, placed a hand on her arm and Dean could see a squeeze. "Sh-She was just over at my house the other day. Her and her poss-ss-e." The man – demon – whatever the hell it was grinned at Sam and Dean. "Fed my pet."

Part of the game, Dean realized. The thing was sizing them up. Eva was just the distraction. Marcel already had a plan of his own.

"Ah, we should let Eva go. Let her rest," Marcel went on. "She has to make sure her dancers-s are ready for her number later." He glanced at his watch. "You go on in just s-six short hours, my dear." Smiled, menacing. "I'm going to stick close to Mr. Hale. Make sure he gets treated well." He placed his hand on the gentleman's shoulder. The dragon glowed briefly, its tail whipped to the left and the right. "Keep him s-safe." He leaned in next to Eva and took a long whiff. "Oh, darling, don't you s-smell good." Backed up and blinked, his eyes cheerfully opening, heated black liquid stared back.

Eva stumbled backwards. Dean's hand balanced her on the base of her back. Sam quickly leaned forward, past the demon and directly into Mr. Hale's personal space. He drew the agent in close and whispered into his ear, "Christo."

The man pulled back. He wasn't the world's most physical guy. Gray eyebrows stretched deep into his forehead. "I'm sorry, what did you say?" the scout asked meekly.

Sam shrunk away. Gave a hasty shake of the head to Dean. Not possessed. Yet.

"I love this song," Marcel taunted. Eyes back to an abnormal gray, small and beady. He stuck his tongue out. It was forked, like a snake's.

Dean blinked. Like a reptile.

_Lookin' for some hot stuff, baby, this evenin'_

_I need some hot stuff, baby tonight_

_I want some hot stuff, baby this evenin'_

_Gotta have some hot stuff_

_Gotta have some lovin' tonight…_

Dean's shoulders squared, his body stiffened, he could feel the hilt of his gun pressing against his back. _Wrong place, wrong time_, he thought. Marcel could say whatever he wanted and he knew there was little any of them could do.

"Miss Destruction needs a little space," Marcel's hand traveled and turned into a good-natured arm throw around Mr. Hale and drew him in closer. "We'll see you soon, Eva. You go put on your lips-stick. Get all dolled up for us. We're looking forward to it." He located a table in the bar that had a better view of the stage and started to make their way towards it. Marcel shoved his star to the side in the process.

Eva, God love her, nodded. Smiled with a little sincerity. But it wasn't comforting.

Dean's lips thinned. He was pissed. It had her scent.

"Do we need to be scared?" Eva inquired, her voice a fine rumble against the music booming in the background.

Dean lifted concerned eyes to Sam. She'd used we, not I and Dean couldn't help but stand taller next to her.

"Probably," Sam answered. "But we should stick to the plan. If it goes well, you should be back here just in time for your performance."

Eva looked out into the crowd. Watched Marcel pull out a chair for Mr. Hale. "The man whose been controlling me and the man who can set me free."

"Either way," Dean touched her arm. There was a mark where Marcel had applied too much pressure. "You'll be free after tonight." Didn't use the word safe but he knew she knew what he meant. If this goes well, hell, they'd all be walking away free.

For tonight.

"Meet you in fifteen or twenty," Eva hummed and turned, disappeared into the swarm of bodies.

WWW

Sam was growing impatient. It had been thirty minutes and finally, finally, they caught glimpse of Eva's headlights on the lone road. Dean had parked the Impala next to the intersection where the concrete road turned into gravel.

"Come on," Sam muttered.

Dean scoffed next to him. "Give her a break. I'm sure she had to pack her heels." He yanked open the car door and slammed it shut. Sam sighed and followed suit.

The little Ford released a small screech as Eva pulled up behind them and came to a full stop. She got out and walked around to meet up with the brothers. Her hair was natural and she was wearing a hooded sweatshirt, plain and discreet. Her jeans were skin tight, however, and her boots were laced in tight symmetrical crosses up her calf. As she came closer, she smiled, her face painted with heavy makeup. A time-saver, Sam assumed. Just in case they cut it close in returning her back to the club.

"Oh, honey, tell me we are taking your car." Eva asked, placed a hand on her hip.

Dean swiveled, looked at his baby. "Uh, yeah."

Eva stole a glance at Sam. "Shot gun," she called.

Sam smirked. _Every ass has a seat_.

It took another five seconds for Dean to pop open the trunk and start rummaging through their weapons. They were prepared, they'd already packed, they had everything they would need.

Almost.

Dean grabbed two steel blades. Swords, more or less. Handed one to Sam, kept one for himself. Sam stood next to his brother, watched his movements. They'd used the blades before, with Dad and the Vampires. Used them on a couple of other uglies in the past that they had no idea how to kill and chopping off their heads seemed to do the trick in bringing down the house.

"Think they're special enough?" Dean asked.

Sam knew his sword like the back of his hand. It had no engravings. No writing on it. He knew Dean's as well. There was nothing special about either one.

_Scares the hell out of me. You two are all I've got. Well, I guess we are stronger as a family._

Sam clenched the grip of his knife. Changed his mind. Both were special. They were _theirs_. "Hope so."

Dean shrugged and tipped his chin over his shoulder, "You got everything you need, Eva?"

She had packed her own bag. Pink with glitter and bedazzling on the side. Gag. Neither of them knew the exact contents of what was inside, but she had gathered some rare incense, herbs, and oils that Sam had read might help in hiding their presence as they planned their sneak attack.

She rummaged her manicured fingernails through the contents. Sam swore he saw an extra pair of red underwear but didn't ask because he didn't want to know the answer. She huffed and shook her head. "I own a gun," she announced, like they might be shocked. "I keep it in my trunk. I forgot to grab it. Damn thing makes me nervous." She sighed. "I think I have everything else."

Sam walked over, held his hand out. "Give me the keys, I'll get it for you."

A few steps, a jingle and a click later and Sam had the Ford's hatch open. For as much as they had different about their lives, one thing they had similar was they all seemed to live out of the back of their cars. Eva's, of course, was littered with costumes and make up, props and accessories. He shifted a box of cheap jewelry to the left, found a vibrator, gasped quietly, and moved the box back again. He shoved a pile of pink and more pink over from the right and sitting underneath a pair of white cowboy boots lay a pair of handcuffs and a small, cream colored revolver. Must be hers. Sam reached down and picked it up.

His eyes snagged on a twinkle and a glimmer.

There was something shiny pushed up against the spare tire. He gently touched the object, wrapped his hand around the leather handle and pulled it out.

It was a long and sleek dagger. Sam twirled the steel around and caught a glint of etching under the pale moonlight. He held it up closer to his face and read the engraving: _To my son, Evan. The man who fights too long against the dragon becomes the dragon himself. With Love, Dad._

_My father died chasing the dragon…_

Was this why Eva was having visions of this hunt? Sam spun the knife easily in his grip. It was a lot heavier than it looked. "Dean!" he shouted.

That's when he heard it. It wasn't barking this time. It was snarling.

"Sam!" Dean called back. "Sammy, we got a problem!"

Sam stepped to the side of the car. There: low and to the right. It crept out of the shadows, head down, teeth bared, maw pulled back, exposing all it had to give. Eva backed up in step with Dean and Sam tightened his hold on the knife.

It acted fast. The dog lunged, paws first, knocking Eva down to the ground. She let out a desperate scream. Dean responded before Sam could take a breath. He tried to pull the hound off Eva and for a hopeful second, the dog let go. Then turned on Sam's brother and sank its teeth into his right arm.

"Dean!" Sam screamed.

He thought he saw Dean try to hit the dog with his free hand but the hound just took that as an open invitation to let go of Dean's arm and attack his hand. Sam swore he could hear a snap as the dog chomped, released, then chomped again.

Sam ran the short distance just as Dean spun around in pain. The dog moved easily from Dean back to Eva, its claws ripping into her tight jeans, tearing her left calf. Sam tried to take the place of his brother, desperately grabbing at Eva's frantic hands. He could hear the cries behind him from his brother, "Sam! Fuck! Sam! Sammy!" Sam could smell fresh blood, but he almost had Eva… Her fingertips were just grazing his fingers and when that didn't pan out, she caught hold of Sam's pant leg. But the strength and the momentum of the dog pulling her were too much and their grasp was broken.

"Eva!" Dean yelled out into the dark.

The hound tugged harder on Eva. A deadly sneer shoved out of its throat and it started a slow drag into the field of wheat. Sam could feel Dean on his left, breathing heavy. "Don't," he spat at the dog. "Don't you make me run after you." And just like it could understand what Dean had spoken, Eva was pulled quickly into the field.

Dean took off without hesitation after her.

Sam was left holding the knife he'd found in Eva's trunk. He moved in a sweeping defensive motion and took a step. A large wind blew in front of him, followed by a wisping cloud of dust. Sam's arm came up and shielded his eyes from the debris. He stopped where he was and took a breath. Dropping his arm, he looked up.

It laughed merrily. "Ah, the chosen one."

Sam swallowed. He could hear Eva's screams fade the deeper she was pulled in. Sam lost track of any movements, didn't notice any disturbance in the wheat from either soul that was sucked in. He opened his mouth to call out.

"I thought you were the smart brother." It giggled. "He will not hear you."

Sam closed his mouth. Jaw clenched.

"Well, you are finally here," it said. Half mocking, half-satisfied.

Sam narrowed his eyes. He slid the blade out of sight between the inside of his coat and his ribs. Felt painfully uncomfortable. His gaze coasted beyond the Sylphid, eyes scanning the dark landscape for signs of Dean. He needed to get his brother back. And if all that was standing in front of him was this fucking motherfucker, well, Sam was ready.

"That I am." Long and dangerous. Waited then because it wasn't his turn to play.

**Playlist:**

_Someone Saved My Life Tonight _performed by Sir Elton John

_Hot Stuff_ performed by Donna Summer

- Dragon quote engraved on Eva's sword is a quote from Friedrich Nietzsche, Philosopher

-TBC- Only four more chapters left to go...


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One

**Author's Note:** Am I a day late? Yeah, I am. Sorry for the delay. But the good news is we are all one day closer to Season 7 Premier. Totally stoked. Out of curiosity, anyone going to the Chicago Con? I'd love to meet up, if you are. Thanks to my lovely beta, **MAZ101** who gave me lots of "Er's" and "Oh's" that were both encouraging in this chapter. All mistakes are mine.

**Chapter Seven: Down a Rabbit Hole**

He ran until his lungs lit up and must have caught fire because he was coughing more than he was breathing and the pain wasn't contained in his chest – it spread up his neck, spun around his head and bolted down his back until the darkness outside became blanketed with grey spots.

Still, Dean ran. He couldn't see signs of Eva or the dog any longer but he tried to keep calm and carry on.

The pain in his arm and his hand, though… well, it was enough to bring him to his knees. He stopped every few steps and tried to see the damage under the minimal moonlight. _Could be worse_, he thought. _Could've been a werewolf_. Smiled at the weirdness of the truth in that. "Son of a bitch," he muttered. Wished he hadn't stuck his hand into a crazy dog's mouth. A stick, sure. Yeah, he should have taken the time to stop and look for a big ol' stick to beat the dog to death with. Dean sighed. His fucking hand hurt. Shook it a few times. Like that was going to help.

Cursed worse than a sailor when the pain snaked up past his elbow.

Midway through the wheat, Dean thought he heard something fall and stopped running. He looked around for a couple of quick seconds and when he couldn't see anything on the ground, he switched to walking and when he thought maybe he was lost, he stopped all together for a few minutes. He spun around, tried to figure which way he'd come from and which way he should continue to search. The pain was so intense, though, that he found it hard to concentrate. He was suddenly so tired and surrounded by nothing but field. He reached his hand up and ran it through his hair, cussed again when he realized he had used his maimed hand and frowned at the blood that was oozing from his palm.

His mind felt like it was playing tricks on him and he had a quick flash of the dog gnawing at him. Blinked hard to get the image out of his head. Hoped he'd never have to come across such a sight again. Being torn to bits by a dog had to be the worst way to go. He shook his head. "Fucking chew toy." Smacked his lips together and wished for some water or soda or food. A nice, juicy turkey leg. Wondered, idly, what his hand had tasted like. Gunpowder and jerky? Then with the thought of jerky, his mind skipped ahead and he realized that the dog had gone after his right hand. The hand he wrote with, drove with, jerked-off with. "Son of a fucking bitch!" Said it louder this time because that really did piss him off.

Then, casually, he glanced behind him. He knew the dog had pulled Eva off to God-knew-where but a thought was nagging at the back of his skull: Where the hell was Sam? He pulled out his cell phone and tried his brother's number. Straight to voicemail. He sighed, looked at the screen and texted him: _Dude, where R U?_ Waited. No response. Released a held breath and started walking again. He chose to head straight and hoped that he wasn't backtracking. Sam would never let him live that one down. Dean, the Master of Direction getting lost in a farmer's field.

So he headed straight, already knew he was lost, and found himself deeper in the weeds and wheat and singing _All By Myself_. Frowned. Really? Eric Carmen? Tried to shove that out of his brain because it was making him nauseated.

_When I was young… I never needed anyone…_

Kicked at a rock, staggered and stumbled until he fell to the ground. It was then that he knew something wasn't quite right. He sat back on his ass and looked at his hand. Wished like hell that he had his flashlight with him. He slowly raised his right hand up to his nose and took a whiff.

"What the fuck?" Dean turned away. It smelled like death. He looked at it again, horrified this time. Was that the scent that Eva and Sam had been smelling? It was harsh. Foul. Like something was decaying. Dean blinked. Didn't want to spend the time and think like that. Shit, he didn't know if he was capable of processing through that much information right now. Took a breath and not in any particular key, he let out, "_'All by myself. Don't wanna be, all by myself…_" He snapped his mouth shut and wished he could stop. Pushed himself back up and started walking ahead. At least he thought it was the right direction, but who really knew?

A sluggish breeze rustled the wheat onto his leg and Dean glanced down. The tips were wispy and light and from above, they looked like delicate fingers reaching for him, pulling on him. It was kind of spooky and Dean couldn't help but grin. He really was born to live this life. This was the sort of thing that made him feel alive. Useful. "Damn, I could go for a candy bar." He walked a couple of steps. "Sam, I'm hungry." Hesitated and then slowly looked behind his shoulder. Nothing, of course. Absolutely alone.

"_All by my –"_ Drew in a calming breath. He looked back down at his throbbing hand. "Sam would probably want me to bandage that up."

He stopped, reached into his back pocket, and took out a bandana. He started to tie the ends when he noticed that he could see straight down to his bone. He swallowed hard and used his teeth to tie a knot, fitting the cloth snuggly around his hand. He pumped his fist a couple of times. _Huh. It feels better._ He rotated his arm around and hissed. The dog had really done a kick ass job on him. He sighed and felt a little bit of relief because he knew he wasn't going crazy. His brain was fighting his body from going into shock. And the best way Dean knew how to keep himself sane was to keep talking to whoever would listen. "Thanks, Sam." He called to the unknown and then tilted his head back. He stared up at the stars for a few twinkles and narrowed his eyes as a cool breeze whipped by him.

"You seein' me right now, Dad?" he asked, voice low and numb. "You gettin' yourself a good look?" Waited then for some kind of a sign: a flash of light, a shooting star, maybe the ghost of his dead father. When none of that unveiled itself to him, Dean took a step but kept his eyes on the heavens above. Swayed a little, but that didn't matter. "You said you were proud." Pointed his bandaged hand into the air. "You said watch over Sammy." Dean shook his head. "That's all I've ever done. That's always been my number one job. And then you say… you know what you said." Dean watched the stars flicker back and forth to one another, talking in a language he didn't understand. "That I have to save him or kill him." Dean's eyes pricked with tears and they flowed fast and unchecked. "Who does that, man? Who puts that kind of shit on someone that they love?"

A star shot across the sky and Dean looked away. "You suck." He clumsily wiped at his eyes with his left hand. Glanced back up. One star in particular stood out to him, sat by itself away from the others. Dean wondered why? Did it not play well with the other stars? Did it bark orders and make the other stars force it away?

_You shoot me. You shoot me! You shoot me in the heart, son!_

The star shined bright and then brighter.

Dean shook his head. "Shut up." He kicked at the wheat clinging to his jeans. "Shut up! I can save him! I can do what you couldn't do!" He laughed then but it snagged on something in his throat and he felt it crack. "Absofuckinglutely, I can." He blinked hard and considered that maybe he was losing it. "Sam?" he called out.

Stayed quiet until he heard a _"Yeah, Dean?"_ Knew it wasn't real, but he let out a sigh of relief anyways.

"I take it back. Back at that haunted hotel… you made me… that stupid promise. I friggin' take it back." He took a few steps ahead, didn't look behind him or up into the sky. Just straight ahead. But, goddamn, he wished he could look his brother square in the eye as he swore, "I'm not gonna kill you, Sam. And _that's_ a fucking promise."

Dean turned to his right and moved forward because there was no backwards or sideways left to him anymore and that's when he saw the glimmer of lights. He cocked his head to the side and skidded to a halt. Yep. It was that big ass old prison-castle – now a house or a dragon's lair – whatever. He pulled his Colt out from the front of his waistband with his left hand and advanced on the building. His world tilted dangerously to the ground twice as he moved in a zigzag motion and Dean only wondered once if this was real or make believe. But it didn't really matter because before he knew what was happening, he had breached the front door.

WWW

Sam shielded the dust from his eyes with the blade of his hand. Squinted, sure, but never closed them. Didn't want to take his eyes off the whirling and twirling dance in front of him. Like a tornado, it whipped itself back and forth, disturbing everything in its path. It didn't care if it was disrupting a rock or a squirrel or a person or their dreams.

It was built to destroy.

"Sam Winchester." It spoke to him, voice gravely, but lively. Like it was going to enjoy this. It took a few pleasurable seconds to get a good look at him. "Your turn to bat. How lovely."

Sam nodded. Agreed with it, he guessed. He really just wanted to solve the riddle so he could be on his merry-dragon-kicking-ass-way. His gaze floated over the things girth again, looking beyond its swelling form, into the dark distance. He wondered where Dean and Eva had disappeared.

"You want to go after your brother." It skipped ahead. "Find out if he's okay. He certainly looked like he took quite a bite." Tsk'd in Sam's direction. "Here's a freebie for you: Your brother He's suffering." The Sylphid shook its head sympathetically. "Poor, poor Dean. He just can't catch a break."

Sam tried not to give anything away, tried to keep his expression flat, his eyes hazy. But he felt his throat open and he swallowed down the first question that he was tempted with.

The sylph coiled forward with the motion. "You have a question for me?" It asked. "A question you desire an answer for." Waited and then greedily added, "Yes?"

A hitch of the shoulder. Sam swallowed again; his eyes diverted to the right and then back to the cloud of dust. There were questions on his mind.

"You wonder, maybe, if it was your fault. Your girlfriend burning on the ceiling. If it was as much of your fault that you may as well have lit the match yourself."

That was a low blow. A handful of cool air whooshed into his face, blowing his hair back and speckling it with sand. Sam's small eyes reflexively restricted even smaller. He tried to remember that this thing was not the air nor the Earth and that it was just another creature that he and his brother hunted. But, with all do respect, yeah, he wondered that.

"Or maybe you wish to inquire about your future." It sashayed closer, its tail seductively whipping dirt to and fro. "If you're going to become something evil. Something your brother will have to kill." Paused. "Or save."

Sam licked his lips. Felt his salivary glands kick up a notch. That was the big, juicy steak that he was wondering about. Was this just a balancing act that he was getting super good at – walking a thin line between light and dark and choosing the right path because he had just become good at it?

Or was he actually evil? To the core? And all the whispers, all the glares, all of his own heated hate brewing deep inside of him… Was it going to erupt one day?

But if he asked, if he went _there_, he'd let the Sylph in and the truth would not set him free. It would drive him mad. That's what these creatures did. That was their design.

It was a give and take.

"Well," Sam began and the Sylphid's bloated form started to expand in anticipation. Hand-like stumps beckoned him for it. It leaned closer and closer, a Cheshire grin planted firmly across what Sam could only guess was its face. Sam opened his mouth and the words caught somewhere between his vocal chords and his pride. _Dad would kill me_, he thought, and then chuckled at how ironic that was.

"Well?" It mimicked back, irritated perhaps in the younger Winchester's silence. "Come on now. I know you." Budged its funneled body like a spring. "Give your brother a gun and a skin mag and he's happy for a month. So easy to please, that one. But you… you make a spirit work at winning you over."

And then Sam did something he doubted the Sylph had ever seen before: he smirked, gave an exaggerated shrug and said with all the confidence in the world, "I know what I am. Today, right now. I know _who_ I am."

The thing shrank back. Looked injured, if that were possible. "But, surely –"

"You have no answers that I need."

Mouth gaping, the Sylph took in a wheezy breath. "I can tell you about Jessica," it begged. The dirt swept across the road, the air even colder now. "I can tell you why you're chosen." It smiled again and Sam was hit in the teeth by a gritty force. "Because you _are_ chosen."

_Chosen for what?_ Sam could only speculate. He scrubbed his eyes with the palm of his hand. Whatever it was, he was certain it wasn't an answer that would please him.

"I could tell you about your role, if you choose to ask. You have a wonderful role – an important role – to play."

Sam frowned. The dust wasn't kicking up anymore and the current of air was dying down. "I know my role," he answered the spirit. He'd had many over the years – Law Student, Boyfriend, Son, Choir Member in his middle school's production of _Our Town_, Respectful Member of Society. "I'm a hunter." He pointed his Taurus at the cloud and fired once. _Can't kill it_, he remembered. But silver still had to hurt it like a son of a bitch.

The Sylphid yelped like a wounded animal and retreated like a coward. Sam held still for a few heartbeats, listened to the cool combing of the wheat nearby and slowly dropped his gun. He kept low and quiet and he moved forward, eyes dancing from left to right and when nothing swooped up to stop him, he picked up the broken brush, still fresh of Eva's drag marks and from where Dean had followed her, and Sam felt a stinging sensation wrap around his heart and make itself home there. It was rock solid fear. He pushed it down to his feet where he could use it best and took off like a shot.

Because really, Sam was a brother and that was always his number one fucking role.

WWW

"Shoot first. Ask questions later," Dean muttered to himself.

He walked into the castle without disregard of making a stealthy entry. He'd already blown that anyway, the door smacked hard against the stonewall and cracked a candelabra in the process. No one was racing to tackle him, though, so Dean continued to walk in, checking his six, watching his sides out of his periphery.

He could hear muted whispers coming from his left and he turned on his heels – too fast, too damn fast – the rock walls blurred together momentarily and he had to blink hard to right himself again. He held his gun out in front of him, level with his chest, felt wrong and uncomfortable in his left hand, like a teenage girl wearing a push up bra – it just didn't feel right – and he willed his other hand to stop the constant throb.

"Just let it bleed."

First words he could really make out and it was a voice that Dean didn't recognize. He slowed up his walk, felt a hot bead of sweat roll from his temple down the length of his face. Brushed it away quickly with the curve of his shoulder. Could feel the heat rolling off of him.

_All by myself. Don't wanna be all by myself. Anymore… _Dean stopped walking. He rolled his eyes and punched the air above him. _Stop it!_ He scolded himself. Annoyed, now. _Stop it! _Steeled in a deep breath and tried really hard to think of Alice in Chains or Motorhead.

That's when he heard her laugh. Deep and throaty, all masculine, but not. Dean pressed his back up against the stonewall and eased up on the nearest door.

"Don't make demands, Sugar Lips," Eva was saying, a hint of flirtation in her muffled tone. "I don't take none."

There were words spoken but he couldn't make out the messy grumble and then Eva snapped back, "Oh, why don't you just kill me and get it over with already."

Dean had to smile. He'd give it to Eva: she had balls.

A snarl followed her words, though, and it wasn't from any dog Dean had ever heard. He could see a poof of smoke billow out of a door a few feet away. Then Eva's voice, higher this time, pleading, "Keep that fucking thing away from me! What the hell is that? Stay back!"

Dean had reached a smooth brick protrusion in the wall, a portion that jutted out and then there was the door just around the bend of it. He wiped his brow with his right arm, winced with the pain when his hand pulled tight, and repositioned his Colt. Noticed it bobbed. He took a breath and gave himself a count – One… Two… Dean spun around – Three.

"Well, there you are!" Something hissed, slithering faster into the space than Dean's body could humanly move. The voice was accompanied by a shift in the air, swift, only a blur past Dean's eyes and a stench whiffed by his nose, causing his throat to close in reflex.

It was only in the seconds that passed, that he was able to take in his surroundings and to realize that he had been masterfully disarmed. Thought for the first time that Eva might have had a point about him saving her now.

_You two are so fucked up. I don't know how either of you save anybody.  
><em>

Hell, if he couldn't save Eva, how the hell did he expect to save Sam?

The room was made of stone – the walls, the floors – there was a stone fireplace at the far end. But no windows to be seen, no back doors to exit out of. Just the stone and the silence because anyone could scream bloody murder in this room and no one from the outside world would ever hear them.

Eva sat in the center of the room. She had been tied to a chair and had been beaten, by the looks of things. Her right eye socket was bruised, her left bloody, her upper lip had a gash a couple inches long.

Still, her eyes softened when she saw Dean and her head tilted slightly in gratitude toward the hunter. Dean didn't need any words to understand the hidden message of _Oh, thank Christ… I am_ _not alone_ that she was conveying.

He'd seen it before. Felt it before. Hell, he'd sang it before.

Something tickled his foot and then brushed up against his ankle until it pulled tight. Dean wished for his fucking gun as he glanced down. There was a green scaly tail coiled around his pant leg, moving up the length of his calf. It slipped over his knee and slid up his thigh, resting an inch or two below his groin. The sight forced Dean to swallow a wave of rising bile in his throat and it hit his stomach like a cannonball.

It moved then. Climbed those two inches. "Oh, Jesus… I'm going to be sick." Said it out loud for God and everyone to hear.

This wasn't like the time when he and Sam were bored and Dean had challenged his brother to tally up how many hand jobs they thought they'd had over their lifetime. Sam had proudly announced his was "just over a hundred". And that was by three girls. Dean had guesstimated his to be around 275. By probably a hundred different girls. He lied, though. Told Sam it was probably closer to 150. Didn't mention how many girls.

This… this did not count as a hand job. There was no hand involved.

"You'd th-think after all you'd been thr-through, that you would've caught a little t-tail by now." The tail moved down toward Dean's knee. Tightened its grip.

Dean closed his eyes and his body swayed with blinding dizziness. He knew Marcel was just off to his left, presumably standing next to a mighty fucking dragon, preferably on a leash and tame and answering to the name Puff, but Dean wasn't counting on it. And what made it worse was behind his closed eyes, during those few precious seconds, he saw trees. Big, tall, leafy trees and they seemed to be looking down at him. His hand pinched under the bandana and Dean released a surprising growl.

"Aw, how's the hand?" Marcel's voice and Dean answered by opening his eyes but didn't look over. Marcel sighed. "Missing somebody? The tall one with the bright future in… Journalism, was it?"

Dean turned as speedy as his body would allow, pulling back hard, his left elbow high and solid as he followed through with a quick blow across Marcel's jaw. The larger man seemed to absorb the punch. His head dipped back but recovered rapidly and when he gathered himself, he looked at Dean with liquid tarred eyes.

"How stupid are you?" he asked and Dean quietly wondered the same thing.

Marcel folded his arms across his chest, let his eyes relax back to their horrible sickly grey, and smirked because Dean had missed something very important: something green and horny.

In his sluggish mind process, Dean had just caught up with the fact that there was indeed a large, green, reptilian tail traveling its way up and down his leg and as he reversed the route by which it came, he found that the tail belonged to Marcel.

"Dude," Dean smiled, keeping his voice dry, "I think you got something stuck up your ass."

Marcel wasn't in the mood for casual chitchat – or a smart ass – for that matter. "What the hell you doing here?" he asked, the veins on his thick neck becoming more defined. "I wouldn't have pegged you the type of guy that would put his butt on the line for some…" His gaze skimmed over to Eva and back again. "For some… _Queer_." Said it with feeling. Said it with hate. Said it and it made Dean's blood boil.

He didn't really remember starting his attack on the half demon/half dragon (with a dash of human) again but an upper cut to the right, a couple of quick jabs to the abdomen and a shoulder hit with all his weight combined behind it, sobered Dean up pretty damn fast. He thought maybe he was actually doing a decent job holding his own when he heard a hopeful cheer from his one member audience but within five seconds, Eva's sounds of optimism turned to sorrowful, "Oh's" and then to distressed, "Oh, God's".

Marcel could pack a punch. Three blows to Dean's face and he was seeing stars and stripes. An elbow smacking into his chest stole the air from his lungs and Dean started a slow sink to the ground. He wondered about his knife, was it still in his… back pocket? Left or right? As he was thinking maybe the left, there was another smash against the side of his head from Marcel, whose knuckles hadn't even cracked with the force.

It was a simple tug of the tail, though, that had Dean planted on the ground, the worst place to be in hand to hand combat, no power down below, and that's when the demon began to kick him. He could hear the screams from Eva. Could hear the wooden legs of the chair she was sitting on slamming against the floor like it was being rocked. Dean curled up into a ball, kept his arms protectively wrapped around his head and chest – a good offense deserved a good defense – and felt something snap inside of him.

Dean figured he gave what he got. But against a demon or whatever creature this was…

There was a rush of blood and white-hot pain that rippled up his spine and made his lungs feel as though they had turned to a gooey liquid. A cough erupted harsh and wet as blood filled his mouth. His head bobbled up and down as another round of kicks landed into his side, splintering a lower rib and Dean was sure that was an extra-large-size-12-shoe smacking into his spleen.

Snips and snaps and crunches and cracks of cartilage and tissues filled his ears and rattled his insides until one final kick to his lower back rocked his whole body and then nothing really hurt.

Enough was apparently enough. Marcel backed off. Dean's leg was released from the firm coil and he could feel the vibration of happy thumping echoing on the stone floor, like a dog wagging its tail in delight.

"All of this," Marcel spat, "for a Drag Queen?"

Dean could hear the abrupt cease of Eva's screams then. Her bawling subsided to a soft cry and the chair she was rocking the shit out of must have stilled.

Dean chanced a glance. Marcel's forearm flexed in his direction, the tattoo glowing bright and the small tail whipping in synch with the much larger version in front of Dean.

"All of this," Dean growled back, "for a _friend_."

Then Marcel's extra-large-size-12's connected with Dean's face and he sort of felt the back of his head hit the stone floor before he dreamt again like he was already dead and was buried on a field of leafy trees and winds that howled.

WWW

It started raining and Sam's first initial reaction was fear. He'd been following footprints and drag marks, broken twigs and disturbed wheat. And with each step he made, the rain started falling harder and harder, washing away clues of who and where, leaving him circling around and retracing his own steps. He hated second-guessing himself. He paid for it more in time than anything else and he had no idea how much Dean or Eva had to give of that.

Strangely, it wasn't just the rain that had Sam feeling alarmed. Maybe it was the droplets of water hitting his bare skin, chilling it in the night air. But Sam really felt like he was being watched. He looked up at the trees above, their leaves hanging heavy and low, giving cover to groups of wheat but far enough away that Sam was left unguarded. There was something about them that made him feel uncomfortable and vulnerable.

And Sam just didn't do vulnerable well. Especially when he was alone, lost, and frantic.

He checked his cell, saw he had one text message and one missed call. Stupid Sylph must have blocked his calls. Sam immediately tried to return the call but Dean's cell did exactly what he thought it would: went straight to voicemail. Sam had left two messages – _Dude, where are you? Are you at the castle?_ and then four minutes later_, I'm trying to get to the goddamn castle thingy. Jesus. Where the hell are you? Did you fall down a rabbit hole?_ Texted four times. They started off geographically challenged – _I'm lost. I see nothing but wheat._ _Coming 2 U. _And then switched to being just plain challenged – _Is your phone off or should I be worried? Anybody out there? LOL. _Sam's nose started to run. Wished he had a Kleenex. Picked up his phone again and texted – _Hey, I ever have allergies as a kid? FML._

Overall, he'd used the phone a dozen times in ten minutes. He was VLA: Vulnerable, lost, and alone.

He was just about to go right when Sam's eye caught on something on the ground. From his vantage point, he swore it was glowing under the minimal amount of light the moon was providing. He bent down and picked it up. Traced the familiar object gently between his index finger and his thumb.

Dean's amulet. Sam looked around, observed the area. It looked like someone – Dean, apparently – had went down on his knees. Sam twirled around… and had went to the left. He checked his ammo – which really just consisted of pulling the sword out from under his coat, gripped its handle and, more importantly, slipped the amulet into the pocket of his jacket. The one with the zipper. Zipped that baby up.

Headed to his left. Traveling only a few yards, he saw the distant shimmer of lights from the massive brick building, felt his feet and his heart speed up as he shoved towards it. From where he was, it looked almost magical, like it was lit up for a Holiday – Christmas or the Fourth of July, all festive and happy.

Sam wedged his body up against the rock and stone as he reached the building. He found a milk crate and pulled it under the window he had hoisted Dean up to see in just the night before. He didn't waste any time. He hopped up on the crate, nestled the sword in between his abdomen and the building and he gingerly pushed up on his tiptoes to get a good look inside.

That's where the action was currently happening. Sam squinted. He watched as two large, baldheaded men with muscles the size of the Rockies escorted a clawing and screaming Eva out of an open doorway. Sam ducked down a smidge as she twisted her body, trying to dislodge the hold they had on her. It was a sight seeing her look so small up against these meat lockers. Sam gulped, felt the crate teeter under him and he placed his weight into his feet to steady himself. Back up on the tips of his toes. Waited to see what scary thing was going to happen next because that's what made his big toe curl.

It was Dean being removed from that room, though, being pulled by a drag chain that was wrapped around his body. Bloody and bruised, cuts sliced into his skin by that asshole Marcel… who was sporting a green lizard like tail… _What the…? _Well, that wasn't exactly what Sam was expecting.

He watched intently, emptying his senses of everything around him. Just watched as Marcel let go of Dean, his brother's arms falling lifelessly to the floor, his right landing by his head, and his left falling against his chest. Sam noticed the bandana wrapped across Dean's right palm. Even through the dark color of the fabric, he could see the blood seeping through.

Marcel was talking to Thing One and Thing Two, pointing at Eva, gesturing down the hall, arms waving above Dean's body. It was clear he was being loud, giving orders and pointing in different directions but Sam couldn't hear anything from where he was. He could only watch.

Dean's face was pale and pinched, his eyebrows scrunched down, pulling his entire expression into a sad frown. His body was limp and unresponsive. It reminded Sam of a few months back, battling the goddamn rawhead. Well, battling the aftermath of the rawhead.

The flimsy milk crate shook under him again and Sam pushed away from the window to regain his position. He let out a breath, needed to think of a plan yesterday because he knew Marcel was steps ahead of him when he felt it behind him.

It must have been soft footed because he was caught off guard when it snorted, its hot breath blowing Sam's hair forward, the ends clinging to his cheeks. Sam froze. He heard it walk and the crate under him shifted with the movement. Sam's knees bounced as the ground behind him clunked, dirt disrupting under a large weight.

It felt like slow motion as Sam circled around on top of the box, his body moved stiffly in one gesture, and his eyes rounded as he saw what he thought only existed in fairy tales.

A large green dragon sat in front of Sam, its body raising stories above his head, its scaly neck stretching even farther as it opened its large mouth, teeth jagged and sharp, the size of houses, and it roared, a plume of fire escaping on the end of its breath.

_I really need to get a picture of this_, Sam thought. _Bobby's never gonna believe me. _

The dragon's neck coiled and wrenched as it screwed its way back down to Earth to get a better look at Sam one eye at a time. Sam stood firm, like he did when he was young and a bully would push him around on the playground. Taller, bigger to make himself look larger than life. But up against this thing? Sam slowly readjusted his grip on Eva's – Evan's – Eva's sword, secured it in his hand and for a fleeting moment wondered how the hell something so small was going to destroy something so enormous. He lined his body up at as best as he could with where he imagined the dragon's heart would be and he pulled back.

The window rattled behind him. Sam slowly looked back and was face to face with one of the bald men. The dude shook a threatening head at him and pointed toward the floor. Sam followed the length of the guy's finger to see Marcel crouching over Dean's body, close enough to kiss him, his brother's own favorite Colt pinned against his head.

Marcel smiled, eyebrows raised and he mouthed the words, "Dead. Man."

Sam was armed. Had his Taurus still tucked up in the inside of his waistband but through a plate glass window and Marcel… Marcel was inches away from Dean. So close. Too close. Sam felt the heat behind him. Unclenched the sword from his grasp and stumbled off the crate. Thing One was out the door and tackling Sam who hit the ground with a wheezy, "Oof!" right before the asshole stripped him of his weapons.

_Perfect_, Sam thought. _Beowulf was never this fucking stupid._

He was on their turf, that much he was aware of, as he walked through the door and down a small entryway. It seemed to be just the three of them that were currently occupying the place. That and the forty-foot dragon outside. A few Latin Hymns, a thrust of the sword and he could easily save them all. Piece of cake.

"Hold still," Thing One grumbled and Sam released a wince as his hair was tugged back, a Ziploc tie bound his wrists and a piece of duct tape was slapped over his mouth.

"Precaution." Marcel smiled but it was dark and plotted.

Sam struggled under the larger man's hold, although it was pointless, his hands were the size of T-bones and Sam would have kindly passed if the guy had challenged him to an arm wrestling contest, let alone the hog-tying event.

"I s-s-see you met my father already." Marcel winked at Sam, his tail thwumping the floor behind him. "He's got my eyes, don't ya think?"

Sam tracked Marcel as he crossed in front of him, pacing excitedly but he wasn't exactly following the dude's train of thought. Had some questions, for whatever this thing was. Really wished he could ask them.

A heavy chain clanked somewhere in the distance and Sam turned his upper torso to get a better look but Thing One was already in motion, wrapping the clunky thing around Sam's neck three times.

"You and I…" Sam turned again, horrified this time. The chain was pulled tighter and he felt a choke in his windpipe. Marcel was standing directly in front of him, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. "You and I," he started again, "are not much different. We're both morph-ph-ph-ing into our next, better s-s-selves." His lips parted and Sam couldn't help but turn away as a long, forked tongue flicked out, coming dangerously close to Sam's own mouth.

"Let's move." Marcel ordered, backing up.

Sam took the opportunity to check his assets. Dean was still knocked out, just in front of him and Eva was slightly behind, beaten and bloody, her hands held together by her own set of Ziploc ties.

Thing One suddenly appeared in Sam's field of vision. "Nighty-Night, Sweetheart," he said but there wasn't anything comforting or sweet about the way he spoke nor the impact of the thug's right elbow smashing into Sam's nose.

It was the distinct feeling of falling and Sam knew he was down on his ass. His head buzzed, begging to let go but he held on to the moment, keeping himself in the here and now, afraid of letting go and waking up alone. Or, not at all. The chain clinked and clanked again, sounding like it was being dragged along the floor and the next thing Sam knew, he body was moving with it, the weight around his neck pulled tight like a noose.

"Sam?"

Sam's legs were pedaling. He pulled on his hands, feeling his shoulders give from the pressure. If he could just pry his fingers in between his neck and the chains, maybe he could give himself some relief. Those fucking ties, though…

"Sammy?"

There was a body being hauled away in the same direction as Sam. His gaze shimmied over a notch and he locked on to Dean's eyes, wild and bright. Dean was being pulled feet first, Sam head, but right at this very moment, they were in fact, shoulder to shoulder.

Still, Sam felt cold and empty. And out of air. He gasped in a breath, felt the constriction of the chains as they took a corner. Dean's body turned and centered again, his arms, in particular, wrapped around his ribs and Sam could see the pain snake itself down his body.

They started to slow up. Someone, who Sam couldn't see, was opening up a door. He could hear the key snick into the lock, a loud thunk as a bolt was retracted, and then the scrape of a large door being open.

Then he heard the screams from inside and his heart started hammering.

Thing One let out a belly laugh, sounded jolly and Santa-like and Sam tried to swallow his fear but it was riding him like a jockey. Regardless of size, he was surrounded by evil and he had no idea their plans for him. That terrified him more than anything. Meg had already gotten her kicks in with his body and it was clear to him: Demons either wanted him to ridicule, torture, or worship. Either way, they wanted their seed planted and Sam had already seen what happened to people when a demon went too deep.

He looked over and saw that Dean was still staring at him. His eyes were all wrong – they were dilated, his pupils blown – and pleading and Sam narrowed his back. Up close and personal, Sam was able to get a good look at the extreme body make over Marcel and the Twins had done on his brother.

Dean looked like shit and, yet, his eyes held on to something that Sam couldn't pinpoint. He couldn't tell if it was fear or need that he was seeing in his brother right then. Sam thought maybe it was both.

Thing Two plodded over to Dean, enormous boots kicked at his back, nudging him to _move_. Dean bat at him before it was obvious he wasn't going to win this fight. Again.

Sam watched as Dean was pulled up to his feet and was being pushed in the direction of the door. Eva started yelling as Thing One brought her up from the rear. "Come on. Come on. Your turn," he was saying to her but it sounded eager and hungry. Like someone was ringing the dinner bell.

_Come and get it. All Drag Queens must go. _

Sam thrashed helplessly on the floor, screamed through the tape. It was Dean who stopped right next to him, dropped half way to his knees and whispered, "I take it back, Sam. I'm not going to promise you _that_. If it's the last thing I do –" Put a bloody hand on Sam's knee. It was reassuring.

Thing Two slammed a fist into Dean's thigh, rammed him roughly ahead.

Sam felt tears sting his eyes. Couldn't be sure if it was lack of oxygen or his brother's spoken and unspoken words but Sam wasn't too sure he believed anyone could save either one of them right now.

He sputtered a soggy, muzzled breath into the tape as his chain was released and he twisted away from the screams and the unknown. Something bright – like a fantastic star – caught his eye and Sam looked up. There was another small window, positioned too high on the wall to enhance anyone's view, but large enough to let in just enough light on a sunny day. Sam frowned. It was dark outside, that much he was aware but as his own vision adjusted, giving his rods and cones time to catch up with each other, he saw that it wasn't the sun after all. It was the eye of the Dragon staring at them through the window.

"We're gonna be okay, Sam!" Dean shouted. A new promise. Shoulda had him sign that one in blood.

Hell, maybe he had.

Marcel bent down. Sam could see his hair was thinning. _Shedding_, Sam corrected himself. The creature took a step closer to Sam who yelled into the tape.

"Hush now," Marcel soothed. Then reached out meaty hands and wrapped a blindfold over Sam's eyes. There was a loud clanking and Sam felt his body move, his neck pulled from a great force.

He screamed. And something slammed into his head.

Thank Christ. It was lights out.

**Playlist:**

_All by Myself _performed by Eric Carmen

-TBC, in 2 days - …no, really, I mean it this time…


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One

Author's Note: Ah, and the day after Premier 7! I liked it. That's all I'll say for those who haven't seen it yet. But, I liked it. A lot. I do want to give a shout out to my lovely beta, **Maz101** who never stopped nagging me (her term, not mine) "Finish the story. Send me something." Thanks, **Maz**. I wouldn't have finished without your… nudges. And my friend, **Gaelicspirit** who also often asked, "When am I going to read that dragon story, Bitch?" and I'd respond, "Hold on to your panties, Jerk." Really. We have t-shirts. Thanks, Girls.

**Chapter Eight: With a Cherry On Top**

Dean came to with a curse rolling off the tip of this tongue and a headache as loud as Cleveland. It took him five times of trying to actually get his eyes open and when he did, he really just wanted to close them again.

He was pinned up against a wall of the castle, like some girl waiting for a knight to save her. His legs were shackled at his ankles and pulled tight against the brick. His arms were cuffed as well, but they were angled above his head, his hands painfully crisscrossed, the clasp purposefully cutting into his wrists.

The smell of decaying meat filled the air. Dean craned his neck to the left, pushing his nose into his armpit to escape the stench with his own sweat. It wasn't enough, though; the scent was powerful. His eyes stung, his lungs lit up and he realized, horrified, that he had smelled this decaying before. It wasn't just meat. It was decomposing, human meat.

He squinted his eyes and let his gaze travel the width of the room. Wall. Wall. Wall. _Oh, shit. _There, half way across from him, off to the right… there was another body hanging from shackles. Dean leaned forward, hissed in pain and then gave a shout, "Hey!" His throat felt like it was ripped to shreds, his voice was hoarse and dry. "Hey, you hear me?"

The body was still, though. It didn't make any sounds and from what Dean could tell, its head was hanging low and oddly bent. He could see a discoloration, realized that it was a small pool of dried blood surrounding the person's feet. He blinked hard. Something had drained this poor guy – or gal – dry.

Dean swallowed and took in a ragged breath. That's when he heard the stirring near him. His eyes skimmed the rest of the room. Wall. Wall. Wall… Person.

There was a cough and the clinking and clanking of chains a few feet away from him and Dean released a sigh of relief. It was a _live_ person. But it wasn't Sam.

"Oh, holy Lord," the husky voice grunted. "Oh, my God, this hurts."

Dean could see Eva in the dim light, pulling against her restraints, only to watch her over sized body fall back against the brick, limp.

"E-Eva?" Dean called over, cleared his throat and tried it again, steadying his tone. "Eva? You with me?"

Her neck snapped over in response to her name and she seemed to get a jolt of energy. "Dean, honey? Is that you?"

Shoving aside the honey, Dean concentrated on the rest of the words. "Yeah, it's me." He looked around swiftly, checking the walls and floors for any other bodies – dead or alive – that might be stuffed in the room with them.

Didn't seem to find any, though.

"Are you okay?" Eva asked.

Dean glanced back at her. She was both shadow and light, hard to see, but easy to make her figure out in the gray, she was so tall, so muscular. Her breaths were deep and long, her chest heaving like a beast about to attack. He hoped she was.

Besides his hands, his ribs, and the fact that he was sure he was bleeding from his forehead, Dean thought he probably looked pretty damn handsome. "I'm pinned," he admitted, hated how it made him sound weak. "My arms…" he pulled on his hands, tried to maneuver his wrists through the iron. He bent his knees and let his weight pull on his skin, praying for a little mind over matter. He envisioned his thumb popping through the cuff, followed by each finger. He swayed his body, twisted his torso… and pulled and pulled until the pressure was too much and all he could see was imaginary fireflies, and they were winking at him, the damned things, taunting him of his efforts.

"You're gonna pass out," Eva was saying as Dean found his footing and straightened his knees again. Neither his chains nor his hands had even budged.

"Something smells awful."

Dean blinked and looked across the room at the rotting body hanging just like they were. The shadows in the room had moved and he could see now that the person was dressed in a white t-shirt. Across the chest, proudly displayed in black block letters, was "The Beatles".

"Where is that smell coming from?"

A lump clogged Dean's throat. He swallowed but it wouldn't go up or down. It lodged there, prepared to suffocate him, if it had to. She hadn't seen and Dean didn't want to tell her, but…

The door suddenly opened. A loud scrape against the cement floor and an appreciated spill of light filled half of the room. Marcel and Thing One filled the other half.

"Oh, honey!" Eva exclaimed, her voice on edge. Dean glanced over at her. She was staring back, eyes soft and dewy. "You're all bloody."

Dean nodded. He tipped his chin down and gave her a half smile. "You are, too, sweetheart."

With a swish of the tail, Marcel stepped in front of Dean, smiling big and bright. He reached up with his right hand and gave the chains a good hard pull. Gave a bigger smile when he saw Dean's teeth grind under the force.

"Los-s-s-t feeling in your pinky yet?" Marcel asked, thumped his tail behind him and let his tongue slither out. Split down the middle. Like a lizard or a prehistoric beast that never existed before.

"Well," Dean began, ignoring the question and cocking his head to the side to get a better look at Marcel's back end. "When the going gets tough, the weird turn pro, huh?"

Marcel frowned. He circled back once and slammed a solid fist into Dean's jaw. Wasn't lights out, not yet, but Dean got the message: _Shut the fuck up or I will shut you the fuck up. _

So, he shut up.

"Now," Marcel teased, walked a few paces between his two prisoners. "If you don't mind, I'd like to gather my thoughts-s, as-s-k a couple of questions and then retire to dine for the evening." He turned on his heels and fixed his attention on Eva. "Dear, tell me s-s-something… how do you do it?"

Dean glanced to his right. Eva was battered. Her lipstick was rubbed off and half of it smeared across her cheek. Even her short, curly hair looked in disarray. She gave Marcel a confused look. "Do what?"

The half-man, half… lizard… stopped walking. His chin shook with pent up anger. "You and I sh-share s-something very close." Marcel lowered his voice, telling a secret amongst friends. "You know that?"

Eva hesitated, watched him from her confines. Shook her head. But Dean could see that, for the first time he'd met her, she was afraid.

Marcel didn't take his eyes off of her and when he spoke, it was sinister. "We have the same father." His eyes sparkled, gleamed at her. Dean watched the exchange. Didn't know if he bought what Marcel was selling but as crazy as it sounded, Marcel seemed to believe it.

Dean's felt his eyes round in surprise but Eva looked unchanged like she was expecting it somehow. Like nothing more could shock her.

"…_my father had a family before us. He had a wife and four kids and then just left them one night. Eventually, he hooked up with my mother, had me, left her and died alone. I've never taken the time to find any of my brothers and sisters, though…"_

"Oh," was all she offered.

"If it makes-s you feel any better," Marcel continued, wagging his tail behind him, "out of all of our siblings that I've met, you are my favorite."

"Fuck off." Eva's voice hardened, came at him like an axe. "You're nothing to me."

"On the contrary. I am your brother."

Eva's mouth turned up in a sad smile. She flashed her perfect teeth but they were red from the beating she had taken. "No. You're nothing. Period." Even for being chained up, Eva stood very tall. Composed. Respectful. "Not a brother. Not a human. Nothing. You're nothing to me."

"S-still…" Marcel stopped in front of her, raised a pale hand to her brown face. Dean remembered the picture Eva had in her house of her as a young boy with her father. He was white. Eva took after her mother's side. Marcel rubbed the backside of his hand against Eva's cheek. "How do you do it?"

Eva scowled in disgust. She spat at Marcel but he ducked, reflexes quick, and he smiled a sickening grin at her. "I don't know what you're talking about." But her voice wavered and Dean wondered if she was telling the truth or if she were stalling.

"How can you be something you're not?"

And then Eva let out a laugh. An honest to God, belly laugh. One that would have had her slapping her knee if she could move her hands. She laughed hard, filling the room until she finally had to draw in air. "Really? Are you serious?"

There was a few seconds where no one spoke and the only thing that was exchanged was shielded looks. It was very apparent: Marcel was dead serious.

Eva sobered up. She shook her head at him and said, "Darling, I am nothing but a man dressed in women's clothing. Wigs and makeup. That's how I do it."

"No!" Marcel slammed his tail on the cement floor. The sound ricocheted off the walls, tearing the air. "No! You are more than just that! I have seen you! I have smelled you! I have spent the past few months getting to know you! You know the rest of the formula, the rest of the secret formula – I need, I want you to give it to me." He followed her with wild eyes. Hungry eyes. "Please," he begged. "Please… I'm only half. You are whole."

The shadows were changing again, the light shifting the darkened corners to a dim gray. Dean could see the body behind the door becoming more defined. It was only a matter of time now.

Eva sighed. "Marcel," said his name kindly and Dean wasn't expecting that, "You're right. I am a whole person. But I'm not doing anything out of the ordinary. I dress in my preferred gender. I am a woman trapped in a man's body. If I were ever able to make the jump and become a woman physically, my secret would be science. Doctors. Surgery." She let that sink in and then added, "I don't know what you think I am."

"That is our father out there!" Marcel screamed at her, his finger jabbing into the air.

"What are –"

"The dragon! That is our father!" Marcel blinked. He looked sincere and he looked desperate. His words were coming out fast, on top of each other. "There was a formula. He used to make it. I have half of it but to complete the transformation, I don't know how… see, he used to… he would smoke it and he always said that if you chase the dragon long enough…"

"…You become the dragon." Eva finished.

Marcel's face relaxed in relief. "Yes-s! Yes-s! You know it!"

"What do I know?" Eva asked, confused.

"The formula." Marcel started his nervous pace again. "Drag Queens. I know, it's an odd request, but it's one of the only things in the human world that can be one thing but live life as another. The blood of a Drag Queen not only s-soothes the beast – our father – but it's also an essential ingredient. I'm miss-ss-ing something, though, s-something big."

Marcel rubbed his chin, scrubbed the back of his head, thinking, thinking, thinking. He stopped in front of Dean, licked his lips. Hissed. "What about it, S-S-Starsky? You hunters know lots of formulas. You got any ideas?"

Pain was lacing trails upon trails up and down Dean's body. His head pounded like a jackhammer and a spasm shuddered down his spine. Made his teeth rattle. Still, he shrugged as best he could, quirked an eyebrow and answered, "I think we're our own dragons and our own heroes and we have to rescue ourselves from ourselves."

That got an agreeing nod from Marcel. And a huff. And a puff. And he reeled back and socked one into Dean's stomach. His abdomen was weak and soft and Dean had to swallow the rising bile in his throat.

He couldn't fall forward or curl up defensively into a ball. All Dean could do was cough and try not to throw up.

"S-s-s-screw you," Marcel stuttered. "You're just a bargaining chip now anyways. Pretty s-s-soon I'm gonna put a bullet in your brain and then feed your body to the dog."

"A bargaining chip?"

"Leave him alone." Dean heard Eva pipe in and, oddly, that only made him angrier.

But Marcel was having _fun_ and at Dean's expense which was even _funner_. "A shoe for a shoe."

Dean felt his upper lip quiver, wanted to spit in the thing's face, but thought better of it, deciding it would be best to reserve his saliva. "Where is he?" he asked, bit his tongue to stop him from cursing because he didn't have any cards to play and he knew he was barely hanging on. Once he got his hands back, he'd beat the shit out of the creature then.

"He?" Marcel sang back, danced a step over to Thing One as if this were a game. "There are lots-s-s of _he's_ around here. Girls will be boys and boys will be girls…" Paused and then delightfully asked, "You know what I mean?" Eyes flicked up and down Dean's body like the creature was seeing candy and Dean felt oddly undressed.

He worked his jaw and let it pass, though. Wasn't sure if _lots of he's_ was a strike against Eva or Sam or if it was a clue to who or how many drag queens were locked in this place. Didn't really fucking care right now. Got to the point. "Where is Sam?" he asked again, not really recognizing his voice. It was somewhere between dangerous and murder and Dean wasn't sure how he was going to get to either one.

Still, Marcel found this all humorous and so he chuckled despite himself. "Oh, _that_ he." Crossed his arms, let Dean get a good look at his tat. The tail illuminated and swished in rhythm to Marcel's. "I wasn't s-sure because in here we have he's-s that are s-she's and she's that are he's-s and he's that are he's and he's-s that are… well, they fall under the category of s-s-something else." Lifted his eyebrows high on his forehead until they disappeared under his hair. "That's the category S-S-Sam falls-s into. Other. Unknown. Not yet identified."

He was still for about 2.5 seconds and then Dean lost it. He pulled and yanked and rattled the chains that restrained him. He lugged his body as far away from the wall as he could possibly go and twisted and twirled until his broken ribs jabbed his lungs and stole his breath and he fell fast and hard, his hands catching his fall. There was a hideous popping sound as his left shoulder shot a wave of hot pain through his body. The ordeal ended with tears burning behind his eyelids and his lungs gasping for air. The cement floor beneath him blurred into a wave of gray and Dean was really surprised that he hadn't dislodged himself and ripped Marcel's head off yet.

He was over his head with this one.

"Is that… Abbey?" Eva suddenly asked and Dean had to keep his eyes shielded or he was surely going to break down.

"Abbey, Annie, Danny, Mike. Who knows who it is?" Marcel waved a dismissive hand in the direction of the lifeless body.

Over his head and everything running out of his control.

Dean could see the shine of the half-dragon mutant's shoes as he entered Dean's field of vision. Dean was down for the count, his body hanging like a ragdoll, heart beating slow and sluggish.

Over his head and he wasn't going to be able to save Sam.

Marcel walked closer and Dean could feel the heat of his warm breath against the back of his neck, right against his ear. "I had my boys-s take your boy out to the field and leave him there. The S-Sylphid wants him. The dragon wants him. One of them will probably get him in the end. But if he beats-s them both… I haven't made up my mind if I am going to enjoy watching him bury you or you bury him before I kill whoever is-s left."

Dean sucked in a breath but it was shallow and it burned his lungs. He didn't want to breathe and yet he couldn't get enough air in. He could feel the warmth of his own blood trickle from his hairline down his forehead and drip away, disappearing into the darkness. He was chilled but it was from fever and he had to open and shut his eyes briskly to keep himself from passing out.

Over his head. Wondered how bad he was going to fuck things up this time.

The tat on Marcel's arm lit up again, blue and green swirls coloring its small body. The inked dragon swished its tail and turned its neck, and blew a puff of smoke at Dean. Marcel's hand came into view, covering the tattoo gently. With love and care.

Dean was weary but he lifted his eyes to Marcel. "I saw that."

There. Right there – Marcel's throat bobbed up and down. A swallow. Nervous but didn't break his gaze. "What did you see?"

Dean paused. "I don't know what I saw." Tilted his head. "But I saw that."

"Give them both s-some water," Marcel ordered. Dean could hear the creature turning away from his captors and in the direction of Thing One. "Don't give that one any food. But feed my brother. Pretty please, with a cherry on top."

Then it all got very quiet and, not wanting to admit it, but very lonely for a few long minutes. Dean sank his weight down, against the cuffs, let his body hang for a while until his hands went numb and he found that he did still have the strength to stand. Eva wasn't talking, but she was moving. It was the usual: lunging forward and backward, pulling and yanking, grunting and groaning.

Thing One reentered the room. Alone, this time, and bearing gifts. He stopped in front of Dean first, let him have a short refreshing drink of water. Dean hated accepting it and wanted desperately to spit it back into the giant's face but times were hard. He drank greedily and wished for more as the guy stepped to Dean's right and first offered Eva a drink and then a bite from a sandwich. It looked like turkey and cheese. Dean's stomach grumbled.

There was a quick swoosh of cold air that blew by him and if Dean could swear to it, he would have said it was like a black tornado erupted from the wall. Eva's arms were coming down on top of Thing One's head, chains and all, while her knee was coming up with a slam to the groin. The man fell to his knees while she pummeled him with her clasped hands across his jaw to the right, then the left, then the right. A kick to his middle and one to his shoulder and the big guy was down for the count.

Dean lifted surprised eyes. "Eva –"

She turned on her heels then, gave Dean a drawn-out look and a slender smile. "Now, Dean," she said, rummaging through Thing One's pockets until she found her prize. She plucked out the keys to her lock and was free within seconds. She hurried over to Dean and unlocked his chains. "I just saved your ass," she continued. Dean took his first step and started an immediate face plant. Eva caught his right arm and threw it over her shoulders. He looked up at her and smiled in appreciation. She grinned back, bloody and toothy, but alive. "The next one's on you."

Dean glanced behind them. Saw the broken chains, the unconscious thug, and looked back at Eva. "You're amazing." Meant it.

She nodded. "Nobody puts Baby in a corner."

www

When Sam opened his eyes, he couldn't focus on anything.

_Oh my God_. His fingers rubbed at a screaming knot on the side of his head. He felt hazy, like he was doped up on drugs and yet he still wished he had a bottle of Vicodin. He didn't need a doctor or a nurse or his big brother around to tell him what this all added up to: He had a concussion.

He rolled over to his side and the colors of his scenery swirled and fell with him. He had a cramp in his stomach and had to talk himself out of throwing up. He had this. Pushed up to his right elbow and felt his tummy wretch. He released a sound, devastation, but no words. He found he had no language left in him at all. Sam slowed his breathing and tried again, locking his elbow as it shook, taking his body's weight.

He gave a small smile. _Yup, not going to throw up._ Now, he could do just about anything. He sat up and shoved his fingers through his hair. His head hurt like a son of a bitch. He wanted to claw and scratch and tear his hair out, it hurt so bad.

Then he remembered. He had been hit from behind – well, the side really. He'd been looking up, out the window as Dean was being dragged down a hallway. He remembered the blindfold and the Ziploc ties. He rolled his wrists around. There were red marks rounding his skin but the ties had either been cut off or fallen off.

He heard a clank in the echoes in his mind and wrapped a hand around his throat. The fucking drag chain. He swallowed and felt the razor like blades scrape down the inside of this throat. He pulled back his hand and saw there was blood on his palm. It wasn't dripping so he figured the chain must have just cut into his skin.

Everything just ached.

He pressed his index and middle fingers hard against his temple. The knot was growing. Probably had been hit by a 2X4 or an iron bar. Didn't really want to think about it. He shook his head. His teeth hurt.

After a few seconds of breathing and trying to clear his mind, Sam looked around. He had no idea which way the castle was and he couldn't see anything in the dark anyways. He was surrounded by wheat and when he stood up, his eyes traveled rows and rows of nothing but fields. He did a quick inventory check, his hands slapping down the length of his body. He had no flashlight, no gun, but... he could feel the sword pressed up against his right side. Shit, those stupid thugs had attacked him, thrown him out like trash and had missed a freaking sword hidden under his jacket? Sam smirked. They were dumber than he thought.

It seemed that was the only weapon and the only thing besides his clothes that he had on him. Still, it was THE thing he needed to slay the dragon. He looked right and then left. If only he knew which way he should go. He stood and took a few steps to the left, followed what seemed to be a shorter row, hoped that it would lead him to a clearing. It just lead him to more wheat. He turned right and started following a new path. It didn't lead anywhere either.

Sam sighed. This was going to take all night. It was kind of like the time Jess had dragged him to a Pumpkin Patch and they got lost in the hay maze. She had attacked him and for a few minutes, it didn't matter that they couldn't find their way out. Her hands sliding around him, between him and his hands coming around her, slipping into her. Nothing to worry about except a few strands of hay where it shouldn't be. And Jess's nails. His back ached at the memory and then his mind jumped ahead a few days later, Dean breaking into their apartment…

Sam felt his heart skip a beat and he had to stop walking. It sucked missing her and having to be the one to move on when he had no idea what he was moving on to.

He took a deep breath and released it, resigned to what he was going to have to do because he didn't want to do it and yet he had no idea how the hell to get out of this maze, if there was a way out. For all he knew, he'd been thrown in the farthest place from the castle, with no possible way to get back to Dean. One dead end after another. Kinda like the story of his life.

He looked up to the sky and called out, "Hello? Hello! I have a question I need answered!"

It didn't hesitate. Dust whooshed by him, blowing his bangs askew, and Sam felt tiny pebbles peck at his face. A tail spiraled in front of him, funneling up and growing large. In a blink, the Sylphid was bouncing a few feet in front of him, smiling like a fucked up Jack in the Box.

Sam looked away first and it was too fast. Swallowed hard before he looked back. _Smiling_. The goddamn thing was thrilled at Sam's desperation. Could see it.

It rubbed where a tummy would be. "Such aggression last time, Mr. Winchester." It's timbre was deep and gravely. "You shot me."

_Can't kill 'em._ Sam nodded. "Sorry about that. It's just... you pissed me off."

It laughed then. A full on chuckle, its middle rolling like a giddy Santa Claus. Or, in its case, a Sandy Claus. "I tend to do that."

Sam paused a moment, put his hand to his hip. "So," he started and it was still grinning, ready and willing to wave its magic wand. "You read minds." Not a question. A statement. An observation.

It rolled back a little, a step, Sam figured. "You ask me a question, I answer it."

"But your source..." Sam sidestepped again, "You know things. You're psychic_." Like me_, he thought, but didn't speak it.

"No." It wasn't smiling anymore. "I just know things. You want to know something and I just see things inside you. Your dreams. Your desires. Your fears."

Sam frowned. _That means you're psychic, freak._ Sam had used that logic before. Personally.

"So, what do you want to know?"

Sam scoffed at the ground below him, drawing a line between himself and the thing. Back and forth. Back and forth.

"You want to know..." it hesitated, waited for Sam to look up. "If she died in vain. If there was something you could have done to save her."

His foot stopped moving and if Sam was asked later, he'd swear he wasn't breathing at all. Just quit existing. His soul surely leapt from his body then and hovered, just out of reach of his body. Catch me if you can.

"Oh, Jess, what would I do without you?" The Sylphid's voice changed tones, shifted into something more human sounding. More _Sam_ sounding.

Sam froze. Wished he had a gun so he could shoot this goddamn thing again. Needed to shut it up. It was choosing and picking as it Rolodexed its way through Sam's memory.

The Sylph's voice melded into something higher. Female this time, eye sockets entranced with Sam. It took a deep breath and released the words in a sigh, "Crash and burn."

"Stop it!" Sam yelled. His voice shook. Alone and afraid and the Sylph _had_ him.

The thing's smile faded and he gave Sam an almost empathetic look. In the end, though, it was about business. It wanted its questions. "But you have to ask. And be specific - which one? Jessica? Madison? Your mother?" Its body bounced like a spring. "Because they all have a different answer."

It lunged quickly, swooping close to him. "Oh, and I know what she was thinking right before…" Empty eyes looked up to the sky, like it was a ceiling and the Sylph spread its thick fingers apart. "Before… poof!"

Sam bit his lip. He felt like a bomb had just went off and his body was melting, his flesh burning. It was all too much, and this was suddenly starting to look like an opportunity instead of a risk. He was forgetting that he was standing in front of something that spelled clear and present danger.

"Or maybe you wish to know if you are going to turn evil."

Sam's eyes darted at the thing.

"Because I know the answer to all of these. Or maybe you want to know if you are already evil. Or if your brother has a chance in Hell of saving you at all or if you're already long gone." It kicked up a dusting of dirt and kicked it towards Sam. "Your move."

There was a fine line between right and wrong and good and evil and Sam wavered. Hell, he always wavered. It wasn't his fault. He chose the good guys every time. He talked a good game, he fought the good fight but, if he were being honest, it had always been a struggle. No matter his choice, he always felt a deep, hard pull to what he knew was wrong. He couldn't help it. It was like he was tainted, marked somehow, and even now, he felt that pull to give up. To give in. Over and over he could go…

"What's it going to be?" The Sylphid teased. "Come on, I'm bored. Who's behind the door? Jessica? Madison? Mother? Dean? Dad? Or your destiny?"

Sam glared. He didn't miss the fact that the Sylphid was complaining of boredom and it was then that he remembered the rest that Dean forgot to mention – for a Sylphid to manifest itself, it was usually tied to something. Usually working as either a slave or a partner to something bigger than it was. Sam smiled to himself. This wasn't a fucking fairytale. This thing was just a thing. It had to pay its due and Sam figured its payee was probably a mutual frenemy. "I don't want any of that."

"Of course you don't. The Sylphid shrugged. "You are a coward," It egged. "You will only ask about something you desire. You won't ask about the things that you fear. You don't talk about those things, do you?"

That jarred Sam. He felt his face crumple for a split second and knew he was exposed, raw. He tightened his lips, sucked in a breath, and put his mask back in place. He spread his arms away from his sides, met the Sylphid's stare. "I need to slay the dragon but I don't know how to find it. If you help me, I'll do what I can to set you free."

The Sylphid seemed to contemplate this request. Not a question, no, but a proposition and it was considering biting. Sam stared it down, didn't look away, didn't blink, nothing.

It coiled its body in closer, shrank a little and took in a dirty breath. "You can slay it but –"

"I will slay it." Determined, steady.

The thing pounced again but it looked nervously optimistic. "You _can_ slay it." Didn't have a lot of confidence in the statement, Sam noted. "But only if the believer believes. North will not disappoint you. And your weapon of choice is in the dust where you fell." And with that the Sylphid backed away, unblocking the path its body had been covering. It threw dim light from its fingertips, the dirt on the pathway lightly glowed.

Sam met a stony look in the hollow eye sockets of the creature. "Follow the Yellow Brick Road?" he mused.

The Sylphid pointed to the path. "Watch out for the balls of fire." Sam followed its finger as the path lit up momentarily and there, off in the distance, Sam could see the outline of the castle and up on top of a large fence post flapped the large wings of the dragon. It snorted, blew a gust of smoke into the cool air and it turned its head and looked in Sam's direction. Sam swallowed, looked back and wondered just how good a dragon's eyesight was.

Sam moved through the field easily now, suddenly focused, back on plan: kill the fucking dragon. It would come down to him, he was sure of it, everything evil was somehow attracted to Sam. They all seemed to want to get a good look at him or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe it was them trying to get Sam's attention. Look at me. _Look at me._ Whatever. Sam shook his head. This lizard on steroids was going down - he flexed his fingers and held his head a bit higher - that he was sure of. He'd seen it in his vision.

That made him slow up. He looked around quickly, checking the world around him. Dean was also in his vision, with Eva, and they had been hurt. He spun around and then continued on his path. That meant the two of them were together and somewhere around there.

The dirt beneath him changed texture and he felt like he was walking in mud. The wheat started to dwindle away but was replaced by trees. Low branches reached down, leaves like large hands smacking his face and slapping the top of his head. He looked behind him. No Dean. No Eva. He trudged on, watching his sides. That's when he saw the castle and the downed crate he had fallen from. Sam ducked down and pressed his body against the side of the building's wall. He reached down into the dirt and sifted his fingers back and forth until he scraped against something steel. Quietly he pulled the sword to him. He stood up, eyes following the dragon's movements.

It was perched on top of an old fence pole, watching Sam as he approached, close enough now that he could see its large black eyes constrict. Its gaze was fetching, staring at Sam like it was seeing something beautiful. It made Sam feel uncomfortable and he wanted to break eye contact but that wasn't how he would win the game.

The dragon suddenly snorted again, smoke plumed into the air and it flapped its wings. For as evil as it was, it was also mesmerizing.

Sam swallowed and held the blade close to his body. It shook nervously in between his arm and his thigh. He started to second-guess himself and wondered if he was moving too fast. Figured why not wait for Puff to make the first move. Wondered for the first time what Dad would do. Watched the dragon circle around the front of the castle until it found a landing spot on the soft ground. Its eyes widened, beckoned Sam to him. _Hello, Beautiful._

And then his mind started to wander again. Stupid thoughts he couldn't control. Like if Dad ever thought he was beautiful or Mom for that matter. Or did they always think he was something to fear or to protect. His head hurt and his heart ached. He shifted the blade to his right hand and stole a breath. Over and over he went.

_Why are we fighting, Sam? Hell, half the time I don't even know what we're fighting about._

Sam sighed. No, but he always knew who they were fighting for.

Author's Notes: Two more chapters to go (and yup, well get it all in). I did want to take a paragraph at the end of these chapters to point out a couple of things. For this story, each chapter has the word Drag in it nestled somewhere. "drag across the field" "took a drag on her cigarette" "Sam, you're a drag". I have a Dragon, a Drag Queen, a Drag Hunt, a Drag Chain and I named the bar Knucker's, which is a Water Dragon. But also rhymes with… you know. Just a little tidbit. See you guys on Monday. Thanks again for all your kind words. You guys make my day.

-TBC-


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One

Author's Note: As always, my heart beats for **Maz101**. Thanks, Dollface.

**Chapter Nine: Three Seconds**

Dean was impressed. Eva wasn't just a Drag Queen – she was a resourceful Drag Queen. The only door out of the room they were currently trapped in was locked from the inside and Thing One's key chain had about fifty keys on it. There wasn't enough time to stop and find the right one so Eva pulled out a forgotten bobby pin from the back of her hair.

They were out the door in less than thirty seconds and easily made their way down the hall and out the main door. Dean noticed she paused by another door where they had initially heard screams coming from and hesitated. She then turned her attention to the main door.

One thing at a time.

"Come on, sugar," Dean heard Eva say and she sounded like she was right next to his ear. "You have to find your legs."

Dean opened his eyes - wondered when they had shut - and saw he was outside being half dragged away from the large building. He looked around, trees everywhere now, the wheat field not far off in front of him and behind him - he craned his neck, felt his muscles pull from his shoulder down to his abdomen - behind him was an open side door of the castle where he and Eva had escaped. He let out a relieved breath and felt his body collapse to the ground, skin and bones falling like a pile of mush. Eva sat down next to him, her breaths rapid and shallow. "This body was not made to carry grown men across a field," she panted. Her short hair glistened under the night sky, wet with sweat. She wiped away a line of blood dripping down her chin but she only managed to smear it across her jaw. Her eyes closed and her shoulders rolled forward, her weight resting on her elbows, resting on bent knees.

Dean's hand pulsed. His ribs kicked him from the inside out. His head throbbed to the beat of _Black Betty_. The world was spinning around him and he felt like he was going to puke. His heart fluttered, skipped a beat, and then pounded in his chest. He smacked Eva's leg with his good hand. "Get up." Tried then to push himself up, could feel the heat light up his upper body. Got to his hands and knees. "Gotta get out of here." _Gotta find Sam_, he thought.

Eva took longer than expected to rise and even longer to get up the small hill that was in front of them. She had fallen back at some point, Dean wasn't sure when, she had been huffing and puffing for a while behind him. It seemed like forever to reach the top and when he did, he turned to give Eva his hand. That's when he saw it. Through the trees and brushes of wheat, sitting perched on a fence post on the far side of the castle was the dragon. "Mother fucker," Dean breathed.

Eva stopped mid-reach, her hand dangling in the air as Dean shoved past her. "What?" she asked, bending downward in Dean's direction and bringing herself up to a stand. Her foot quivered when she laid eyes on it, her shoe slipping on the loose dirt. "Oh, holy Sir Elton John."

Not taking his eyes from the creature, Dean jutted a chin over his shoulder. "You see it, too?"

"The big ass dragon perched on a fence like a ballet dancer?" Eva moved down the hill, stopped right behind Dean. Then, in a lower voice, "Yeah, I see it." And more. Much, much more: "I see your brother, too. Oh, Jesus, he's going to… Dean, he's going to try and kill the damn thing!"

Dean's eyes scanned the field. A few yards out, still moving through the wheat was Sam. He was holding the handle of a sword close to his abdomen, the blade flat and pointed away. He wasn't trying to sneak up on the dragon, though. No, they were having a staring contest.

Dean took a step, Eva in tow, and that's when it hit.

Whatever it was must have pummeled into Eva first who, like a domino, plastered into Dean. There wasn't a question of what was happening because he got that one right away - the ground rushed up to greet him. His face skidded a few feet down a hill of dirt and grass, wheat whizzing by, slicing his cheeks. His ribs must have exploded because the pain that laced up his side was from the inside and hot and cold at the same time. Dean let out a yelp somewhere between his head hitting a rock in his pathway and a frog that jumped out of the way. His body came to a stuttering halt, night sky above him as he opened his eyes, dirt falling from his eyelashes.

He lifted his head, saw Eva lying in a lifeless lump a few feet ahead of him. He wanted to ask if she was okay but his throat was clogged with earth. Well, that and the fact that slowly pawing its way to him was a large, mangy dog, teeth bared and saliva dripping from its mouth.

Dean grimaced at the sight. He felt his hand heat up, thumping a heartbeat that wasn't there, but screaming in its own way. Clumsily, he shoved away but the dog had him pinned, one large brown paw on his thigh, the other on his chest.

Its hefty head bent down, breath hot against Dean's face and then it released a skanky snuffle, hot and smelly. Dean's stomach tightened and he raised his injured hand in protest, pressed it into the animal's furry neck and pushed.

The dog craned its head over and licked at the wound. Dean pulled away and the dog snarled, nasty and deviant. He owned this package of meat. Dean stilled, watched in horror as the dog followed his maimed hand – deciding – Dean realized, that this was where it would begin in finishing off the job it had previously started. He imagined the dog gone, just disappearing into thin air. Gone. Gone. Gone.

Dean closed his eyes. Sam did that. Sam disappeared. He'd do it again, too. Just needed a reason. Dean bit his lip. Tried to retract his arm again.

The paw on his chest rose and came down angrily, the dog's nails slicing easily through Dean's t-shirt and ripping into flesh. Dean smelled more of his own blood and his body clenched at the rough, knife-like cuts. He hoped this wasn't the way he was going to go and hoped that if it was, he'd be in too much shock from the attack that he wouldn't feel anymore. His head hit the dirt behind him hard and he was panting, his breath wheezy as he exhaled. Sounded like a dying animal lying on the ground.

That's when he felt the dog again, gnawing at his hand. Lapping and nibbling. A little sweet, a little sour and his stomach rolled this time. He sat up suddenly, one hundred fifty pounds of legs and fur losing its grip and, at the same time, digging into him, trying desperately to hang on. Dean was going to throw up or pass out, take your pick.

The dark figure moving just ahead of him, though, made him think maybe he was hallucinating. And then there was Eva, on her knees, behind the dog. Hands the size of the Titanic reached for the animal. She wrapped her brightly red manicured nails around its neck and twisted it violently to the right. Dean heard the snapping sound with the motion and the small yelp the dog managed to squeak out just before it slumped to the ground.

Dean fell forward, on all fours, and vomited in the dirt. He felt Eva sidle up next to him and place a warm hand on his back. One minute, she's killing a dog, the next, she's giving comfort.

"If I had a gun, I woulda shot it," she said matter-of-factly. "More my style."

Dean nodded. He believed her and tried to show his appreciation by flashing her his killer grin but it was weak and he felt himself shaking. It was going to be a long way from the ground to a vertical position. Still, he attempted to stand up. Tried and failed and Eva shifted her hand from his back to his armpit and – there – is was possible to stand. Although he swayed back and forth and thought any minute now, he was going to end up back in the bloody dirty. But for now, he stood.

And there was Sam down the hill from him, sword in hand, staring down a fire breathing dragon which had left its perch on the fence post and was now pacing in front of the door to the castle-like building, waiting with restrained anticipation to see how the story would end.

"Sam!" Dean hollered. He took a step and felt the loose rocks below give way.

"Dean!" Eva's voice and she sounded like she was right in his ear. Everything was magnified.

He was down again, but landed on his ass this time, and was riding the hill and dirt like some kind of sled until he was close to the bottom. Eva was behind him and as they stopped together, the dust and debris wasted no time in coating their bodies and lungs and Dean was thrown into a coughing fit. He tried to call out to his brother but couldn't get past the S-s-s-s.

"Sam!" Eva screamed. "Sam! Wait!"

_Not yet,_ Dean thought. Because Sam was yards away from him, without any back up, about to try and sacrifice himself to a mighty dragon. And then where would Dean be? He wasn't about to lose the only family he had and be truly orphaned.

_You have to save Sam. _

Fucking right he did. Because if he lost Sam, he lost himself. And one of those things Dean couldn't live without.

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Sometimes Sam knew his ego got in the way of the way he did things. Sure, he fought it - suppressed it sometimes - always tried to remember to put other's feelings first. Tried to remember that every person in this job had a name. That he wasn't the only person that mattered on this Earth.

But there were times, times like now, as he was walking toward a threat that Sam knew, without a doubt, that there were things that he was capable of that no one in the world could ever do.

It amazed him that there had been a time when he thought getting married, raising a family, and paying bills was something that would've sustained his interest. How long would it have been before Sam was looking for extra curricular activities to meet his needs? Hell, the two plus years he had spent in Stanford, he'd hunted two spirits, a chupacabra, and a possessed mouse. Not to mention an apartment, a used car, and a part time job.

Hunting was very versatile work.

And, in the middle of it all, had found love. He had convinced himself and everyone around him that it was enough. That he could be happy on love and books alone. Sam blinked. The dragon had flown off its perch and was pacing the entrance to the castle door now. It walked in a waddle, its huge hind legs moving like mechanical cranes. He could feel the thunder below his own feet whenever it touched ground. The dragon would often stop and check on Sam's progress, assess his threat, and then it would release a groan. Dissatisfied, Sam figured, that he was taking so long. _Hurry up so I can eat you already_. Sam swallowed. Gripped the handle tighter. He was just about twelve feet out, when he heard them. He almost didn't turn around, but he couldn't help himself. It was in his nature.

Sam turned, his upper torso doing most of the work, and looked to his left. There were some trees off to his side, drooping large leaves that inhibited his vision. Sam squinted. Just beyond the lining of the trees and the fields of wheat, there was a clearing at the end of a hill. There was Eva, screaming Sam's name and in front of her was Dean - bloody, bruised and broken. Sam felt a tug from someplace deep inside himself that he reserved for the people he loved most in the world. Most of whom were now dead. All of whom he could count on one hand.

He took a step toward his brother and felt a rush of heat from behind him. It was like something had lit him on fire and was enjoying the fact that his backside was burning. Sam spun around and brought the sword with him, his shoulder blades pulling with the motion.

The dragon stood at least eight stories tall. It sucked in one hot breath after another, its body swelling and growing with each inhalation. What had been an over grown lizard was suddenly something Sam had truly read about only in fairy tales. It snorted and it grunted until its cheeks filled. Its head fell back and it's mouth opened, filling the night sky with a brilliant light show of radiant reds and burnt oranges.

Then it stomped it's massive legs, it's large abdomen dragging on the ground as it's tail swished back and forth, kicking dust up into the air. It stopped in front of Sam, bent down and roared.

Sam was falling and he knew he didn't have much time. He acted without thinking, without waiting for a decent shot. He slammed the tip of the sword into the nearest mound of meat. Sunk it right into the dragon's right calf.

It screeched in horror. Sam's hand retreated the blade as the dragon took a surprised step back and then charged at Sam, fire spilling around its mouth, singeing part of Sam's bangs. The dragon squawked into the night. It looked at Sam, eyes glimmering as its pupils narrowed and betrayal replaced the adoration it previously held. No longer did it see Sam as beautiful. No, now it knew. It could see beyond the facade. It could see Sam was also made of dark.

Sam pulled back again and pushed the sword into the dragon's skin. This time just piercing its thigh. Didn't even seem to feel it. No reaction, just a small tear from where he withdrew the sword.

Sam swallowed. _Stupid_. He had to puncture the heart. Every dragon slayer knew that.

The dragon got tired of waiting and being poked like it was some sort of an attraction at a petting zoo. It pushed Sam down with its nose, released a juicy noise and slithered a split tongue in and out of its mouth. Within a blink, it grabbed hold of Sam's waistband between its teeth and picked him up as easy an insect. It tossed him around violently, the world jostling like an earthquake. Sam had a hard time holding on to reality. He wasn't aware of anything except the stomping from the dragon was kicking up more dust than Sam could take and periodically, he would swing uncontrollably past the dragon's chest. He visualized where the heart was caged. And somewhere between the ground and the air, realized he had dropped the goddamn sword.

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Dean wasn't even sure how he made it to where the dragon was, maybe it was Eva. Maybe it was adrenaline. Or maybe it was pure will but by the time he was close enough to do anything useful, the dragon had Sam dangling in its teeth and was shaking the shit out of him. He could see the sword lying in the dirt, dust and rock flying all around, quickly burying it from view.

Dean blinked and watched the quickly moving dust, twisting and twirling the earth. It funneled like a tornado, gaining speed in front of him. Dean frowned and bellowed a "Hey!" at the formation.

The Sylphid spun around, the face that looked down at him looked very human this time. Dean took a step back. Looked very female this time. Long dusty hair cascaded down rocky shoulders and the cone it danced around on looked like a dirty party dress. Very different from its masculine form just the night before. Dean paused… Guessed it was a mixed up, muddled up, shook up world.

"Ah, the disappointing one." It stated, bored that it had to even talk to Dean. "_Now_ you want something from me."

Dean worked his jaw. Tried to slow his breathing, it was one of the only things he could keep control of right then. Really, really didn't want to get help from a creature he should be trying to figure out how to get rid of... his gaze flickered to his brother's body being tossed around like a rag doll and that was enough of a reason to bend the rules.

"I need to kill the dragon." Dean called up to the figure. Not a question and this irritated the Sylphid. It started shrinking. Dean panicked, hit a button before the Sylphid disappeared. "Please."

Out of his periphery, Dean saw the dragon drop Sam. There was no movement from his brother who lay flat on his face while the dragon clomped around his motionless body.

"You are not a righteous man," the Sylphid answered. "You have the tool, yes, but not the purity. Your hands have delivered too much death."

Dean closed his eyes momentarily. Behind his lids, he understood what the creature was saying to him. He blinked and took a breath. "But I need to save my brother... and I don't know how to do that."

The Sylphid waited, its body bouncing as patient as a hungry dog waiting for a bone. _MoreMoreMore_.

Sam still wasn't moving and the dragon was sniffing him. Dean swallowed. "What do I need to do to save my brother?"

"You are asking, then?" It's smiled said it all. He was caught like a fly in a web.

Dean felt his stomach pitch. "I'm asking."

"With the sword, of course." The Sylphid pointed a blocked finger in the direction of the buried blade. "But you have to be a righteous man, which we've established you are not, so this must not be the saving you are referring to."

Dean paused, eyes fluttered to Sam and back. "How do I save my brother?"

Ask one question and it will demand more. Dean knew how these things worked. It would make you ask it question after question, giving answers in riddles and rhymes until it drove a person mad.

"Oh." The funnel tightened. "Dad's secret." That irked Dean but he stayed quiet. Knew it had said it on purpose. Tried to play the same game the Sylphid was playing but in the background, he could see Sam was trying to push himself up and the dragon was wagging its tail in delight. "He'll be saved soon."

"How?"

"The how doesn't matter, does it? You should be comforted in knowing that he will be saved."

Dean rolled his shoulders. Nope. Not comforting at all.

"It just depends on how you look at being saved. You probably won't like it. You know, you might even go and screw it all up."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "What does that mean?"

"It means..." and the Sylphid twisted away, long dusty hair clouding Dean's vision. "Sometimes you have to let go for someone to truly be saved." It moved and Dean could see again.

Another question. It wanted another question. Every answer will begin another question. He could hear Dad's voice, _Don't get sucked in_. "So, I'll have to let Sam go and live a normal life?" Recalled his conversation with Sam when Dad was still alive. He'd hated the thought of it then, it had scared him. But now? If it meant Sam was alright, happy, alive... well, he could live with that.

"Why don't you ask what you really want to know?"

Dean could see Sam was up, resting on his knees. He was oblivious to Dean or the Sylphid. The dragon, too, didn't seem to notice them and took a step back, giving Sam room to stand. Sam started to raise, sword dug up for the second time that night and tight in his right hand.

"You want to know if you're going to have to kill your brother."

_Oh, God. He was that transparent._ Yes, that was it. That was the question he really wanted to know. Dean felt his face soften, embarrassed maybe because there was heat on his cheeks. His head tilted to the right and he stared the Sylphid down. "Yes, that is what I want to know."

"What do you want to know?" Bounced on the end of its tail.

Dean swallowed. The thing wasn't going to make it easy for him. The dust died down and a dirty hand cupped an equally dirty knob on the side of its face. "I'm all ears." It joked.

It's now or never. Dean glared. "Am I going to have to kill my brother?"

The words sounded louder than anything spoken before. It was as if one moment there was a filter, the next there was nothing. Just as quickly as they flew out of his mouth, the rest of the world seemed to move in slow motion. The Sylphid sat back, pleased with itself, long hair blowing in the cool breeze; the dragon's snout turned up as if just noticing that he and Sam were not alone; Eva stopped her descent down the small hill to where Sam was… and then there was Sam. He was standing, body limbs all loose and exhausted and when he turned, his eyes found his brother. Bruised and damaged. All the lies and omissions, the changing of the subject that Dean had managed to pull off these past months - _you're not a killer, you have me, it was mind control, Sam!_ - all of it was thrown out the window because Dean had just asked a mythical creature to tell him the truth and, just like that, whatever faith Sam had in Dean that he could somehow save him from this mess, was gone.

Dean stood for a few heartbeats and just let his brother process. He figured he'd earned the look Sam was giving him. Hell, he probably wanted it. Here he was seconds away from getting the answer that he so desperately wanted to know and it was just a fucking set up. Get him distracted so the dragon could do whatever it was that dragons do. Dean felt guilty about that. Always feeling the guilt. If he had just trusted Sam to go in and do the job alone… but that was the thing, wasn't it? Dean didn't even have enough faith in Sam to slay a dragon without him. What was he really afraid was going to happen if Sam tried this on his own? He couldn't answer that.

The Sylph was laughing open-mouthed at him. The stupid thing wasn't owned by the dragon. It was the dragon's partner. And Marcel, wherever the fuck he had gone to, was an obsessed fan. An obsessed son. Maybe the dragon was getting old. Maybe it was looking for a replacement. Maybe metamorphosis didn't just change him, it saved him.

But Sam was looking at Dean through too long bangs and he knew. Now he knew, no matter what Dean would say later, no matter how much he would deny it. Sam knew. And Dean would give anything to take that back because Dean needed Sam to believe in him, to keep them _them_ because without Dad, they had become so much weaker, even if neither of them would admit it. And then Dean wondered if he and Sam were part of this, too. Part of the morphing and changing that was happening around them. Dean, holding on to what was and to the _them_ and the _they_. When he and Sam were now a _we_ and an _us_. And Sam, wanting to be trusted to do things on his own. Not living in a shadow all the time.

The Sylphid leaned forward, dirt and rock scrambled near Dean's feet. "You want to keep playing twenty questions?" It sneered. "Like why you don't believe in anything?"

That, Dean resented. He believed in things. Didn't he? Rock and Roll. Loose women. Winchester Rifles. Roth was better than Hagar. That ghosts really did exist. That what's dead should stay dead. That he was never going to get married. He believed in those things… Dean closed his eyes. Felt his Dad place that baby in his arms and he ran, ran, ran through the hallway, down the stairs, out the door.

Opened his eyes. Could smell the smoke and knew he believed. Dean believed in Sam.

"Or you wonder if you could've done anything to change what happened to dear Mom? You want to talk about why 1983 was your worst year ever?"

_Changed?_ Dean thought. He wondered if this thing was still on. Only one way to find out. _Tap, tap_. Dean cleared his throat. "1983? The year my brother was born. Fantastic year." He looked beyond the Sylphid's form, saw his brother standing tall now, air brown between them, eyes still fastened on him. Dean believed in Sam and, Jesus Christ, that son of a bitch was going to rip the shit out of that dragon. He smiled, felt dirt pebble his teeth. "Kill the fucking thing, Sammy."

Watched as Sam pulled back, just as the dragon was opening its mouth, teeth plenty and jagged. It shifted its weight. Attack mode. But Sam was faster and all muscle and meat. He hit the dragon first in the belly, nice and deep, wrenched the blade out fast. The dragon whimpered, releasing a puff of smoke. It fell back hard, rumbling the ground and shrieking. And Sam didn't waste any time. He clambered onto the rolling tail and climbed the dragon like a fallen log. Sam raised the sword one more time and slammed the sword into the beast's chest, burying the blade to the hilt and giving it a quick twist. The dragon leered back, its feet flapping air, its head tossing to the left and the right until its body went limp.

Dean took a step, not sure if it was dead or alive. That's when the Sylphid screeched in horror and started shrinking. It gasped for air but it sounded wheezy. A death rattle banged against its windpipe like an empty aerosol can and in a few blinks of the eyes, the Sylphid disappeared into the wind.

Dean's chest hitched. The Sylphid gone, the dragon dead… Marcel. Shit, where the hell was Marcel? Eva was running by him towards the castle and Sam was running towards him. He hurt. Well, he always hurt but this wasn't just the regular hurt. He was in pain. The ground was starting to rush up to him again when he felt Sam slide in front of him like he was coming into home plate. Dean felt arms catch his shoulders and he was being propped up by a solid weight.

"Sorry, Sammy," he said, but his words were interrupted by some kind of cotton material.

Sam, perhaps being fair, he thought, was a good judge and gave him some mercy. He felt a hand on the base of his neck and fingers massaged his upper back for a few seconds. He thought maybe – just maybe – Sam was actually holding him. But that was ridiculous. He sank forward a little more. Finally, he could rest.

Footsteps on his left were getting louder, though, and he heard Eva's deep voice slice through the thick air, "I found three girls tied up in a room! They are alive! I've called 911!" She was excited. It was a rush to save another person. "Candy Ass was in there and she said she heard Marcel tell his other thug to drive him to the club!"

Dean heard it, he did, and he responded. He weakly pushed away from the tree he must have been pressed up against. He felt Sam's hands slide down from his back to his biceps and Dean had to stop. The claw marks on his chest throbbed. His hand felt like it was on fire. Each breath put new pressure on his ribs. Everything was so _hot_.

"Dean?" Sam whispered.

Couldn't look up, not this time. There was nothing left to shield his eyes. Not even the dark. "Just give me three seconds, Sam." Felt a strong squeeze around his arms that didn't release and Dean was so very grateful when Sam gave him ten.

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Dean was falling fast. Sam guessed this by the way his brother looked - sweaty, hot, bloody, pale - a pool of bodily fluids. He knew his brother was falling because he let Eva drive the Impala. And, man, could she drive. Sam sat in the passenger seat and held on for dear life. Dean was in the backseat and literally took up the entire thing. He moaned at each turn, slurped in a breath at each bump. Released a whimper that had Sam reaching back with a long arm, only to have it batted away. Left it hanging there, though. Just in case.

Eva kept her eyes focused on the road and her trap shut. She said exactly three things during the drive to the club. One when they hit a hole in the gravel and Dean let out that... well, when he made that sound that had Sam's heart falling to his stomach and his hand reaching over the seat. She looked over at Sam and asked, "Should we drive him to the hospital?"

Which prompted Sam to take in a breath and before he could do anything more, Dean shouted back, "Fuck no! Just go to the bar!" Followed by a few more curse words about Marcel and the club, which Dean referred to as a bar and Eva as a club. Different names. Same place. And Sam really just wanted to get there and get it done so Dean would finally accept help.

The second thing Eva said was after a long silence. Sam was planning a strategy when he heard her mumble, "I thought I was the crazy one in the family."

Sam fidgeted at her words, distributed the weight under him. Felt wrong in his own skin and couldn't think of a goddamn word to say back to her.

The third thing Eva said was when they were almost at Knuckers. She put on the turning signal and her body leaned into the curve, her torso crossing the midline of the front seat and her gaze snatched Sam. "Hey, Jolly Green Giant..." the car was slowing up. There was the bar dead ahead. Sam looked over, matched her stare. "Are you doing okay?"

And it was a sudden thing then. All that anger Sam had locked away deep inside him, tidal waves of Dads selling souls and brothers keeping secrets and of Sams being terrified... it was like someone had come along, pulled the plug and, for a moment, it all drained from him. His eyes filled. He had to look away, blink hard. Tried to answer but all that came out was a squeak and he wished he was goddamn angry again because he just wore it better. Then her heard the raspy "Sam?" from the backseat and knew Eva wasn't the only one asking.

The car was put into gear and the ignition turned off. Sam turned his body, looked at the Army before him. Swallowed hard. They'd all seen better days.

"Eva, where will he be now?" The parking lot was still packed. The music spilling out of the building was loud, just like they were at a concert. Eva listened. That's BJ singing so it must be about 1:30. They're close to the finale. I suppose he'd be backstage, making sure everyone was ready for the last number."

"Yeah, that, and who he's going to try and steal. He probably only has one shot tonight at grabbing one of the girls and still attempting to make the formula. That way he can be the next friendly dragon in the neighborhood." Sam nodded, sensed Dean's eyes on him. He looked into the backseat where Dean lay still. Sam offered him a dimpled smile. "Dean-"

"Help me up, Sam."

"I was thinking," Sam hurried. "That maybe this time you could run-" funny choice of words- "interference... outside."

He was offended. Immediate. Recognizable.

Sam tried to save face. "I was just thinking-"

"Screw you and your thinking, Sam!" Dean hollered, started to push himself up. Never mind the grunts and groans. Sam couldn't get his or Dean's car doors opened fast enough. Dean shoving by him like he owned the place. Like he owned his little brother. Held a hand up to Eva who tossed the keys like a baseball and Dean was popping the trunk open, muttering language that would've had Mom slapping his face silly. He grabbed a .45 Wesson, one they hadn't used in a long time, and turned to Sam. He jammed his hand into his pocket, ignored the fact that his shirt was covered in blood and that there was sweat dripping off his forehead.

Sam shook his head. "You're a..." Felt his face flush with heat. Anger back in check. Thank you very much. "Jerk!" Said it. "You know that?"

"Yeah, I do!" Stayed very still, staring at his brother. Not giving up but not giving more, either.

Sam flapped his hands at his sides. And then backed up. Could never stand in Dean's way. Especially when there was a job to do.

Dean brushed by him, but Sam saw the quick twitch of his lip, the roll of his shoulder, and the tired, tired, tired rippling all over his body. Pain inside and out.

Sam felt bad. Felt guilty for this, somehow. And recognized that look on Dean's face, too. The heavy, heavy guilt. Dean turned quickly, then, shifted his weight from one leg to the other. Probably just the aching stinging down to his feet but the move made Sam back up. It reminded him of Dad about to take a swing and even though he knew Dean wasn't heading in that direction, he still balked.

Dean, instead, gestured to the trunk. "Choose your weapon." Smiled a little. A little bit playful, but mostly it was lethal.

Sam shrugged but retrieved a gun. Gave one to Eva, too. Looked up and stared hard at Dean. "Don't get lost in there."

Dean made some kind of tsking noise.

"And keep your phone on." Sam's turn to blow by Dean.

He heard Dean shuffling behind him, trying to keep pace with the other two. They reached the stairs. "Hey, Sam, if we're giving orders here –"

Sam whirled around. _Orders? Yeah, Dad, give me the fucking orders._

Dean hopped up on the first step, level with Sam now. He leaned into his brother's personal space. "Just don't get yourself killed, okay?" Left Sam standing there, leading the trio now. Jutted a chin over his shoulder, "Bitch."

Sam sighed. Figured there was one good thing about tonight: with all that blood on his shirt, Sam guessed they wouldn't be paying any sort of cover charge.

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They entered through a side door and Eva pushed by Dean and started a race through the crowd, heading right for the stage. Dean stayed as close to her as he could, not meeting anybody's gaze. Eyes straight ahead, Sam on his heels, Eva too far ahead. Some help he was.

Eva curved around a cocktail waitress, one with an enormous feather hat. The server, having her order to place, turned quickly and bumped into Dean. It was a small collision but his body felt it. He let out a small cry, and sucked in a feather that fell from her hat. He felt Sam's hand from behind and swept it away. Didn't need any guidance or comfort. Idiot. Really wanted to turn around and yell, _"Oh my God! I just swallowed a feather!"_ But there was no time and Dean was still mad. His eyes scanned the room. Found Eva, started after her again.

They were almost at the stage when Eva was spotted and it was just a matter of time really. Judy Garland's daughter eyeballed her and shrieked. Top of her lungs kind of scream. It got kind of crazy then. Dancers swarmed Eva from every direction. A box of Kleenex was passed up through the crowd like a mosh pit diver. There were hands all over her and, even though Eva was trying her best to keep them back, they were like maggots taking over. She was shifting off course, a circle of Drag Queens leading her to the door in the back.

The music never stopped, though, and the dancers on stage were oblivious to anything going on in the middle of the crowd. Dean could see from where he was that Marcel was not near the stage.

Sam bent down behind him, next to his ear. "Do we stay out here or do we follow Liza Minnelli?" he asked just as Judy Garland's daughter sped by them, wet towel in hand.

_Thank-you_, Dean thought. That was driving him crazy. Should've known Encyclopedia Brown would know. "We follow." Limped after Liza, caught the door right before it shut.

Backstage. Again.

It was easy to find Eva. They just had to follow her bellows. She let up, though, when she saw her friends enter and pulled them inside her dressing room, shooed the others out.

"He was just here," she was saying, hands shaking, eyes round and frightened. "When they brought me back, I saw him, down the other hall way, helping Patty Cakes." Eva looked at Dean who looked at Sam who looked back at Eva.

"How did he look?" Sam asked.

Eva frowned. "Winded."

Dean took a step, pushed Eva into her dressing room chair. "He means did he have arms and legs or arms and a tail?"

"Oh." Eva looked down, thinking. "No, just… no, of course there was no tail."

Sam looked like he had a hundred things running through his mind. Dean pursed his lips, leaned his weight on a dresser behind him because he thought he might pass out and he knew that that was probably the first thing running through his brother's mind. So, he had to be smart. Keep Sam on track.

"Marcel isn't going to kidnap anybody here until the end of the last number."

Sam lifted his eyes. "Why do you think that?"

"Well," Dean tilted his head. Took a shot. "He's a guy who likes a good show. He's going to want finish it through. And…" Tried to hide his worry and certainly didn't want to cause alarm to their guest. "And I think for him, there really is only one Queen that matters." Gave a weak smile at Eva.

There was a pause from Eva. Her chest rose and fell and she finally made a decision: she turned her chair around and got a good look at herself in the mirror. "Well, I guess if we're going to pull this off, the first thing I gotta do is put my face on."

It always amazed Dean how strong other people were. He and Sam had grown up with looking for the monsters under their bed. Eva just woke up a couple of days ago and here she was, ready to fight with them. So that's how he justified the fact that he and Sam had to help her prep for her number. She was the star, of course. She was closing down the house.

"Hand me my red boots, Dean."

Dean walked into her closet, turned on the light. There was about sixty pairs of boots and shoes neatly put away. Every girl's paradise, he was certain. He grabbed a pair of red, leathery boots and walked out.

She laid her hand on the heel, paused as Dean held on to the other end. "Red is my favorite color. The color of love."

Dean felt his cheeks flush. "It's also the color of sirens. You be careful out there." He let go of his end. But not before he smiled at her. She stood up, all 6'6" of her. She wore a red dress with a plunging neckline. Rhinestones caught the dim lights in the dressing area. Her blonde, curly wig was snug and secure and as she sashayed past the brothers she grabbed a red boa, wrapped it around her neck.

"I trust you boys will have my back." Grinned at them. Only a bruised cheek which was barely noticeable. A handler showed up at her dressing room door, ready to knock. She opened it up as he approached.

"You're ready?" he asked, surprised.

"As a lollipop."

He frowned. "You're never ready on time."

She reached a hand out to him and he gave her his elbow. Dean was impressed at how easily she could slide her persona in and out, like a chameleon.

"Dean, are we really going to waste this guy in front of a hundred people?" Sam asked, testy.

Dean stole a look. "It's a lizard, Sam. If it goes after Eva, yeah." Dean pushed away from the dresser. Took a step. Nice and steady. Stopped before he exited the dressing room. "And, come on, dude, give me a break. There's at least _two_ hundred people out there."

Sam stood, sulked next to him with one of those pissy looks on his face. Up close, Dean could see there were bruises where there shouldn't be bruises checker boarding his brother's face, neck and body. He could ask how Sam was doing but he knew the answer and, further more, knew it would just be a set up for Sam to lie to him. So he sighed heavily and instead focused on Sam's half burnt bangs. "Oh, Ponyboy. Your tuff-tuff hair," he roused.

And Sam's expression turned from pissy to deadly, which was exactly the point. Even if it was Dean Sam wanted to kill.

They walked out of the room in tandem and hung out together in silence, stage right. Eva and her crew were just taking their spots. Everything was black, but even in the dark, Dean could still catch some of Eva's sparkles. The announcer was speaking, pumping the crowd up and they could hear the roar of fans calling Eva's name. Dean wondered briefly what that had to feel like: everyone wanting you, wanting to hear you. People getting so energized that there would be no way you couldn't feel all that love.

Surrounded for that moment, Dean realized. In the quiet of her home, Dean had seen it: Eva was lonely.

The purple, velvet curtains were drawing back. A spotlight found their star. Eva looked up, directly into the pouring brightness. She put the microphone up to her lips and took a deep breath. _"I'm sailing away, Set an open course for the virgin sea. 'Cause I've got to be free, Free to face the life that's ahead of me…"_

Dean felt Sam's elbow nudge his side. It was gentle, but deliberate and Dean leaned back.  
>"Eleven o'clock," he heard, low and direct. Even felt Sam's nod and Dean followed it, without seeing it. Yup, there it was – Marcel on stage left, watching the Winchesters watching the show.<p>

Nodded at them, eyes blinked, a quick flash of liquid dark, and then back to their normal grey. Dean's skin crawled.

Sam was off like a missile. He found the stairs, took two at a time and was slowed down by the crowd. Dean could see him get by one customer, only to be shoved back by another. His brother gone as his shadow, Dean could finally breathe – painfully. He looked across the stage again, became the night watchman, he guessed because Sam wasn't getting through that crowd fast enough and Dean wasn't about to try and dance his way across the stage to get to him. So he watched. And felt helpless, he had to bite the inside of his cheek from losing it.

Eva was tramping on. _"On board, I'm the captain, so climb aboard. We'll search for tomorrow on every shore. And I'll try, Oh Lord, I'll try… To Carry On!"_ Big old clad boots from the other dancers slammed down on the wood floor in synch with her. The noise they made was their own drum solo.

Eva meandered her way to the back of the pack, eyes skated a glance at Dean, standing in her corner, and Dean watched with interest as two guys came out behind a cutout of the set and attached two hooks to the back of her dress. It took all of about five seconds, two quick pulls from each and Eva walked back toward the center of the stage.

And then three things happened at almost the exact same time.

Eva hit the middle part of her song, singing over and over _"Come sail away, Come sail away, Come and sail away with me lads…" _and her body was effortlessly hoisted into the air. Dean's heart immediately sped up at the sight. She hadn't mentioned this. _Goddammit_. Wanted to pull her back the fuck down. Dean's eyes ticked over to Marcel who grinned, flicked a reptilian tongue at Dean. And Sam had just reached his destination and first thing he did was run his face into Thing Two's fist.

"Oh, fuck me," Dean breathed. He had no other choice now. Sam was fighting the thug, Marcel was slowly transforming and Eva was dangling in the air above them. Dean had to dance – walk – across the stage to get to the other side.

He took his first step and by this third, a confused dancer in a white leotard whizzed by him. Dean twirled along with her, her fingers tickling his waist, his hiking boots scuffing the floor and smashed into another dancer. Dean's hand landed on her… upper thigh… and he quirked an eyebrow as he kindly tossed her aside and pulled up his jeans a half inch. A boa was in his face and he wondered that the hell was up with all the boas. Pink and red swirls danced by him as he bounced off one dancer and into another who hip bumped him to the other side of the stage. That's where Sammy was getting the crap beat out of him. It wasn't just Thing Two, either. Marcel was all over him, too. Tail and all.

Dean swallowed. Took another step when Marcel swung around, lizard tail gliding across the floor, hitting Sam and Thing Two who both fell and then slid onto the dance floor. The song was ending, but the dancers were caught off guard and as they looked over, Dean removed his gun, pointed it at Marcel.

He heard someone scream, "Gun!" before he even registered that he was the one holding the thing.

Marcel locked eyes with him. He was as changed as he could get. Whichever ingredient he was missing, he hadn't found since his time at the castle and Dean was grateful for that. Whatever it was that Marcel was, Dean couldn't pinpoint and he didn't care. He was there to do a job and all he could do was control his own actions.

"Wait." Marcel said but he wasn't begging. "That gun isn't going to kill me and, really, you should know that I'm more like your brother than my own."

Dean heard him. Didn't pull the trigger yet.

"We're both, you know… chos-s-sen."

"You're not the right age, Old Man." Dean cocked the barrel. Left hand. Felt wrong.

Marcel ticked his head to the side but it moved like an animal. "Different age group. S-same destiny."

Dean felt the sick feeling of nausea churn in his stomach and creep slowly up his throat.

"The man with the yellow eyes-s has big plans-s for him." His tail twitched. "He's a great, great man."

Dean shook his head. Willed the nausea to pass. Shook his head harder. "But not you?"

Marcel shrugged. His arms spread open wide. "This is-s what happens to those who are not chosen. S-Suddenly, you're thrown away. Unwanted. That is, if you s-survive not being chosen. My life could have been a lot shorter." Marcel's eyes dimmed. "Takes-s all your power away. Leaves you to figure out how you can still achieve greatness-ss-ss."

Dean's heart sped up. "Greatness?"

"You just don't know," Marcel went on. "You have no idea how great S-Sam can be."

His eyes tracked over to his brother. He was getting a couple of good swings in now. Sweat poured from his brow and his back looked massive, his neck thick and his fist powerful.

_I have to save him,_ Dean thought.

Marcel took a staggered step. "You don – You –" His words were coming out garbled. The hair on his head started falling off his with each shuffle. "Y… don… S-S-S… great…" He wasn't making sense anymore. Sounds erupted from him that were not human and when Marcel raised his hands up, Dean could see claws tearing out of his nail beds.

There wasn't anymore time to waste so Dean pulled the trigger, hit the thing square in the chest, just as Thing Two threw Sam down to the ground, pounding the side of his face.

The crowd was ballistic, pushing and shoving their way to the door. Dean watched the chaos unfold as Marcel absorbed the bullet, lost his footing and fell backwards into the curtain. The pyrotechnics, working on a timer, went off just as Marcel smashed into the lever that was holding Eva up, sending her plummeting to the stage floor. Right above Sam. Who was watching another terrified blonde fall from the sky. With fire shooting up around them.

Dean ran to the switch and pulled it the other way. He circled around and saw Eva coming to a jerking halt, inches away from Sam. The tips of her wig caught a spark from the pyrotechnics and singed Sam's cheek. Dean felt a muscle pull in his neck at the sight. And Sam…

And Sam…

Dean wanted to rush over, close the distance. Felt it all play out quickly across his face: horror, fear, concern, alleviation, love.

But his attention focused back to Marcel. Finish this fucking job. He wasn't a demon, but he was – morphed – enough to be able to turn his eyes black. Dean kicked the creature in the side.

He – It – moaned.

Dean pointed the pistol at it again. Aimed for its head. A defensive hand came up. Dean stepped on it with his boots and squeezed. Dean almost chuckled. Maybe the thing thought a bullet wouldn't be able to kill it but apparently it had never been shot in the brains before.

Everything was eerily quiet, save the breathing from the two on his right but Dean wasn't able to look over just yet. Because there was a small dragon illuminating from Marcel's arm and attempting to leave its host. Dean frowned, pulled out his dagger that he slept with at night and watched, both horrified and mesmerized, as the tiny dragon snorted a flame out of its nostrils and then flapped its wings, testing them out.

"You're cute," Dean said and the tiny thing looked up at him. "But we were never allowed to have a pet." He pulled the knife back and stabbed the little dragon in the chest. Like a balloon, it deflated at the prick.

Dean let out a held breath. Everything ached. Everything pulled. Everything hurt. He didn't remember walking to Sam and he'd unhooked Eva and got her on her feet before he knew what he was doing. He did remember falling to his knees, though, and the sound of Sam's pain.

There was a desperation lingering then between the two of them. Eyes seeking eyes and finding no comfort in either one. Dean placed a warm palm on Sam's head, fisted his brother's hair and wished that there was something – anything – that he could say. Swallowed hard and cleared his throat. "I killed it."

Then, really, he must have passed out. Because he dreamt it was Sam he killed and he was glad he wasn't the psychic one.

**Playlist:**

_Come Sail Away_ by Styx (performed here by the Lovely Eva Destruction)

A/N: On a side note, every chapter also has a line from the song Lola by the Kinks tucked away in it.

-Chapter 10 (aka the Epilogue aaka The Conclusion) TBC- in 2 days…


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: **See Chapter One

**Author's Notes:** …and the end. My goal in the is story was to tell a story between the brothers and have them just happen to be battling a dragon in the process. Hopefully I was successful. Here's the conclusion/Epilogue. And to my **Maz101**, I hope you're back safe and sound from your recent adventure and I thank you again for all your guidance. All mistakes are mine.

**Chapter 10: Incognito**

Things just stopped for a few weeks.

It was the small things that seemed to suddenly matter. Like having two unexpected guests land in your spare bedroom for a couple of weeks. Eva didn't mind. Not at all. It was nice to have someone around to look after, to help when needed, and to watch when they weren't noticing.

Dean had to be in the hospital for a few days and then was discharged into Sam's care. That's when the healing finally started. Slowly. Dean was literally out for at least three days. He communicated like a child: moaning from time to time, opening his eyes on occasion, but then he'd fall back under. And Sam always sat near him, waiting him out, sipping on coffee and reading every book Eva had stuffed in her bookcase. He'd leave to go to the bathroom, sometimes he showered, but mostly his trips consisted of ninety seconds or less.

Eva placed a large hand on Sam's shoulder. The poor boy almost jumped out of his skin. She tried, encouraged him to take a walk, get some fresh air, take his cell phone with him. She'd call if he was needed. But he refused her offer over and over. Eva tipped him a smile. Knew that everyone was afraid of that one phone call that would bring them to their knees.

It wasn't until the early morning of the third night as Eva was trying to sneak down the hallway for a brownie break when she heard it.

"Sam."

His voice caught tight on his vocal chords. Snapped like a twig, really. Pain, she suspected. Wasn't sure from which wound, though.

Sam's head bobbed on his chest and he opened his eyes at the sound of his name. He leaned forward quickly, his hands sliding down his thigh, coming to rest just beyond his knees. His face hit a wandering light from outside the window. She smiled when he did. Fucking dimples.

"Hey, man." Raised his hand but laid it back down on his own leg. Too afraid to touch him, she noticed. Afraid his own touch would cause more hurt. To both of them.

"I'm surrounded by pink." Dean announced and she felt oddly proud by the statement. Pink: the color of healing. Of friendship. Of purity and virgins.

"We're at Eva's." Sam replied. It was unnecessary to say but, still, he quirked an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Dean said with a huff. "Smells like her."

Sam waited a beat. "Like teen spirit?"

Aw, that made her grin. Old grumpy pants did have a funny bone. She made note of that. He was human after all.

"She okay?"

Eva paused. She felt dizzy all of a sudden, like a part of her had exited right then and there and was hovering above her body. She was flattered at the concern, that this hunter cared enough to ask but she also found herself lingering on the words... waiting for Sam's reply because she wasn't sure the answer herself.

"Of course," Sam said easily. Rolled off his tongue and into the air like a sweet kiss. "She's banged up and bruised, but you know."

"No, Sam, I don't."

Eva found herself leaning in, straining to hear Sam's whisper, "She's gonna be okay. The rest, well, it's just like everybody else who finds out that there's more out there than they knew about before. She just has a new normal now."

_A new normal._ Eva rolled her eyes. If that boy only knew all the fresh starts and new normals she'd already had in her lifetime.

But Dean followed Sam's response with a quiet, "Okay." And Eva peered into the room again. Her eyes followed their movements in the dark from behind a gingham curtain she had hanging in the hallway. It was darker where she was and she suspected that she blended into the background just fine. Incognito.

Her attention caught on Sam sighing and his shoulders caved and hunched forward on the exhale, the entire world resting on top of him. His hands moved again but stopped as his fingers intertwined with one another, clasped tightly like little church people, and landed just on the edge of the mattress next to Dean's hip. One thumb chased the other. Eva wondered if he was just nervous or scared or if there was more. He seemed like he was hiding something dark. Anger, maybe.

"Wanna hole up here for a while?" Sam offered. He gave Dean a three second count and when his brother didn't answer, Sam added, "She can cook. Her house smells like flowers. It's warm. The bed's soft. She keeps a fridge stocked full of beer. And..." Hesitated. Let Dean look over at him. He held the gaze and slipped him a smile. "It's homey."

Eva felt her eyes prick. She shook her head. _Don't start now. Don't start the fucking waterworks, you big baby. _

She heard Dean release a sound. It wasn't a sigh nor was it a huff. It was somewhere in the middle. A place where these two boys lived their lives. Not on the inside. Not on the outside. But someplace else. In between.

She decided it was a puff. Yes, Dean released a puff and then he almost laughed but he didn't have enough air in his lungs to carry it through. "It's a girl's house, Sam."

_No wonder Sam felt so at home here_, Eva mused. Read the humor his brother was laying down but Sam... she leaned forward, squinted. They did a few small things next. Sam reached into his pocket and gave Dean some kind of a necklace. It dangled in the air, catching the light from outside the window. Dean's face lit up like a kid at Christmas. He snatched it quickly and threw it over his neck, smiling with childhood delight.

Then Sam's fingers found an abandoned string on Dean's blanket and he was busy twisting it one way as tight as it would go and then he'd stop and twist it the other way.

"You wanna talk about it?"

Sam stopped spinning the string. His eyes drifted near Dean but didn't make it to his face. Eva waited, wished she could look away but she was way too invested now. She felt her breath hot on the curtain and held it close. She made a wish, said a prayer. She hoped.

"You don't think I'll understand?" Dean asked and his face softened instantly. His voice dropped a register. "You think your problems are that complicated?"

Eva blinked. She remembered something her father once told her. He said, "Love is never enough." And she believed that, her whole life, until she met Abbey who taught her, "All you need is love." Eva hadn't lived long enough yet to know which of them had been right. But watching these two brothers, she thought maybe a person had to believe it was both. Maybe love had to be the foundation but it wasn't enough to keep growth alive. This, this bond that they had, it was deeper than the love she'd witnessed thrown around all her life. Tossed aside like garbage, picked up when needed.

This was commitment. This was real.

Sam shoved away from the bed and was on his feet in less than a second. He turned away from Dean, his tall build engulfing the window, his body a silhouette in the gray. Still, Eva watched him drag his hand through his hair and she counted the heaves of his chest as it filled with hot air. One. Two. Three. Four.

He stopped and tried to say something. His hand extended out. Five. Six. Made a noise this time. Seven. Eight.

And all the while, Dean waited. Waited because it wasn't his turn and he couldn't make Sam do anything that Sam couldn't do.

Sam held his breath. Held it until he was forced to release it and then he surrendered and sat down on his ass, the little pink seat under him squealing in protest and he went back to his string and the unbearable silence.

Eva watched Dean laid a gentle hand, a calming hand on his brother's knee. Giving him an extra opportunity, she understood. But the words fell through Sam and were lost on the floor somewhere.

Dean released another puff and must have drifted back to sleep sooner than later because before Eva knew it, breaths had evened out from the small room and quiet snores greeted her in the hallway.

A few days later she passed by Dean sitting at her kitchen table. He had one of her weights in his right hand and he was flexing it with those muscles of his. She bit her lip for a second before walking in.

"Need a drink?" she asked, paused at the refrigerator, hand perched above the handle.

He glanced over. Shrugged.

She grabbed a large glass and filled it with lemonade. It was early, only about 2:15 in the afternoon and she decided there wasn't any reason to encourage anything stronger while _Days of Our Lives_ was still on.

"Where's Sam?" she inquired, not pushing, just genuinely wondering if she needed to grab another glass.

A hitch of his shoulders was her response so she brought over the single glass and sat down across from him. She mulled it over: to ask or not to ask. A fight or a disagreement or maybe just an over concerned little brother. She decided to let it go, asked about how his side was feeling instead. It was still wrapped. He was still hitting the Vicodin pretty damn good. Not that she was counting or anything.

"It's better," he answered and she kind of believed him. He looked at her and she saw his sadness shining through. His hand defensively laid across his left side and he let it rest there for a minute. "Sometimes if I turn just right or when I stand up, there's a pain that shoots all the way up past my shoulder. Gives me a headache."

Eva appreciated the honesty. She wanted to ask if he had told this to Sam but instead she said, "Your whole body has been beaten. It's not going to heal in just eight days. You're wounded. Give yourself some time."

Dean took in a shallow breath and let it out. He tilted his head and blinked at Eva. "How... how are you doing?"

It hurt, but she smiled. "A dragon, who may have been my father, and my half lizard-half brother are both dead, Dean." She licked her lips and grit her teeth. "And I'm having a hard time processing it. So I guess I don't know how I'm suppose to be doing."

He looked away. Focused on the photo of Eva and her father sitting on her table. He didn't offer her anything back. No words, no actions. She would have killed for that.

"Is that how you felt... I mean, how did you feel when your dad died?" Held her breath and almost blacked out from the words. Wished that she hadn't gone there but she had and it was out and there was nothing to do now but wait.

He kept a steady gaze on the picture. "Guilty."

She nodded. "And now?"

Dean's eyes skimmed over to hers. His face was streaked and stripped raw. "Guilty. And pissed."

Oh, she wanted to know more. "Guilty that you couldn't save him?"

He didn't flinch. "Guilty that I didn't save him."

She narrowed her gaze. Everything was a riddle with these two. It angered her that she would never be close enough to understand the way they lived. "Why are you still here, Dean?"

That seemed to shut him up. Eyes diverted away again and so she never knew if they were there because of Sam or Dean. Or because of their father.

"You know," Eva reached over, grabbed the picture frame and held it to Dean. "I only keep this out because it is the only picture I ever had of my father." She flipped it over and popped off the back. "And this…" pulled out a loose sheet of paper, "is what I thought was a poem that he wrote to me." She held it out to Dean who reluctantly took it. "See here? It's like a song but if you read it closely, I think all of these things are ingredients."

Dean's eyes narrowed. He sat up straighter in his chair. "Grains of Paradise. Madder root." He scanned the page. "You think this is the formula? But these are all… attainable. I mean, they're rare but anyone could get these things." He glanced at the poem again. "It does mention the blood of a Queen. I don't think it means of England, though. Or some other European Country."

"Or Elton John," Eva added.

Dean's hand turned, palm up. Giving her that possibility. "Or… Elton John." He thought about it a minute. "It talks about transformation."

"Marcel had it all in front of him. He just overlooked the missing ingredient." Eva scooted her chair closer, pointed with a hot pink nail. "A dash of love."

Dean gave her a look. "I'm not –"

"I think it only works if you love the Queen." She gave him a defiant grin. "I remember the night before my father died, he snuck into our house and came into my room. I hadn't seem him in a year…" Her smile disappeared. "He put his hand over my mouth and took out a knife." She locked eyes with Dean. "I was so scared. But he only pricked my finger and placed a few drops in a vial and then… kissed me on my forehead. And took off." She released a heavy sigh. "We didn't even know he had died in that fire until a couple of weeks later when they finally ID'd his body. But one thing I do know is regardless of everything, my father loved me very much."

Dean gave her his undivided attention, held a stare for a long minute and then gently folded the paper back up, handed it back. "You think your father turned into a dragon, Eva?"

She shrugged, took the poem back and placed it behind the picture. "I don't know. I only know that whatever he smoked, my mom always said took him in the end. And the way that dragon looked at me... it was like it was looking at me with a parent's love. You know what I mean?"

Dean just stared, though. No smile returned and Eva knew she had pushed the envelope too fucking far. Open mouth. Insert stiletto.

She felt bad then that, like him, she had nothing more to give. There were no words that she could pull out of a magic hat to make that kind of pain go away. A dragon had been slayed - her brother had been killed - and by the very two men that she protected now.

But she couldn't fix everything. That would take years, she decided. That would take a team of psychotherapists and heavy antidepressants. She thought maybe this was as good as it got for these two. Questions left unanswered. Silence instead of words. Anger instead of compassion. She thought those things until she returned back to work and came home way too late on a Friday night. Dean was almost whole again. He'd been itching to get the hell out of there and Sam had been slowly packing their clean clothes back into their duffels. She figured the only reason why they were still hanging around was that there was more room in her house than in the car and when their arguments hit their peak, one of them needed an open door to get away from the other.

So it didn't surprise her as she was walking up her driveway that she heard the back door slam and saw a tall figure stomp across her yard. She halted in her step, felt a mix of sympathy and frustration for the young man. She wanted to help him, God knew she did, but it never did any good. Neither of them listened. Neither of them could let go of their own Egos.

Just then the door opened wide and Dean came barreling - well, limping, but quickly limping - down her back stairs. He stopped behind his brother and spread his arms out wide at his sides.

"You wanna hit something, Sam?" Dean's voice held a bite to it that Eva had never heard before. Eva frowned. She never knew what they were fighting about. Only that it was Dean always pushing Sam to talk about whatever it was that had happened before they had come to Cleveland. Something that Sam had apparently done.

Sam turned away from the shed that he'd been facing and toward his brother. "What?"

Dean's hand signaled to his chest. "Because if you're looking to wail on something, man, I'm here."

This seemed to surprise Sam. "You're a hypocrite, you know that?" His chest heaved, like it had the night Dean had woken up. This time, his head cocked to the right and his eyebrows stretched high on his forehead, disappearing into uneven bangs shielding the gaze that was fixed on Dean. Eva wished she could catch more of the exchange than she was seeing but she was meant to be left out. Somethings were meant to be kept between family.

Whatever look Dean had given to him, seemed to soothe Sam in some way. His breaths slowed and his voice evened out. "Dean, I don't want to hit you." Sam slapped his arms against his thighs and he shifted his weight from one leg to the other but said no more.

Dean raised a hand in question. "Then what do you want? Because I'm not..." There was more concern hidden in his voice than frustration. "I'm not a mind reader. You gotta talk about it."

"About what?"

He chuckled. "Take your pick."

Sam circled around his brother, kicking at defenseless blades of grass. He swiped at a low branch on a maple tree and then turned and leaned in close. He pointed a finger at Dean and narrowed his eyes. "You wouldn't talk. Not when Dad..." Swallowed. Blinked. Ripped his heart open an inch and wore it on his sleeve. Sam cleared his throat and tried to push past the tears in his throat. "Not when Dad..."

Dean took a step closer but Sam backed up. He met his brother's stare, both eyes glistened. Sam shoved on even though his voice was shaking. "You wouldn't talk."

Eva swallowed. She wanted to interject: _He feels guilty_. But instead, she placed a hand over her mouth.

"I talked."

"No. Not at first. It was like pulling teeth-"

"But I talked. I mean, I know, I beat the shit out of the car. I hit you. I went Rambo on some innocent vamps but... we all gotta talk it out in our way."

Whatever it was, Sam was going to hold it close. Even Eva could see that. It was funny to her that she had thought it was Dean, with his tough exterior that would've been the one to hold it all in but it was soft-spoken Sam in the end. He set fire to his internalizations.

_Say something. For Christ's sake, say something. Please._

"Forget it, Sam. It's cold out here." Dean whirled away and started back toward the house but then must have given it a second thought and decided to make one last ditch attempt. He turned around. "You want to pretend like everything's okay, fine. I'm here. But if you change your mind and you want to hit somebody, I'm here for that, too. You want to get drunk off your ass, dude, I'm totally here. You wanna yell for no reason, you want to spar, you want to have a junk food fest, you want to paint clowns dying a hundred different ways, Sam, I'm telling you..." Dean took a deep breath and let it out. "However you want to do it, you need to talk this out and, goddammit, I'm not going anywhere."

She couldn't tell but the words seemed to sink in. Sam's shoulders were rolled forward and they didn't hold the tension Eva had seen before. His head bowed down, his arms hung loose. He was as close as Eva had ever seen him. And Dean knew it. He took the steps necessary until he was standing in front of his brother again.

"M-m-m..." Dean's lips held the sound, it vibrated for a few seconds, ping-ponging back and forth, before he spoke the name. "Madison's death. We both felt it, Sammy. There's no way it didn't bring up shit for you. Of Jessica." Dean's voice raised at the end of her name, like she was an angel. "Maybe stirred up something from Mom's death. Or Dad's."

_He feels guilty._

Eva could feel the wetness race down her cheeks. She clumsily wiped at her face. Death and loss. Commitment and love. Hand in hand. None of it was enough. And it was all too fucking much.

Sam sniffed loudly. He brought her attention back and she watched as he raised his head and looked at his brother for what seemed like a long time but in reality was only a few stuttering heartbeats. "Could've done more." He pressed his palms into his eye sockets. His throat worked hard, sending his Adam's apple chasing itself for a few laps. "Could have done more for all of them."

There was a heavy silence and then Dean breathed. "They still would've died." Caught his brother's gaze. "All of them."

_Huh_, Eva thought, _they weren't super heroes after all._

A broken cry cracked the air and Eva felt a shift between both brothers. One's resignation and one's relief. They were emotion in motion.

Dean reached a hand up and rested it on the back of Sam's neck. Eva felt her heart break as Sam pulled back and brought up his own arm, placing his head into the crook of his elbow. Hiding, she initially thought or maybe he was trying to gather some composure but then she realized he was just waiting for the final invitation.

"I'm here, Sammy," Dean whispered. And with that, Sam closed the gap between Dean and his own body, fiercely wrapping his long arms across his brother's shoulders. Dean took the extra weight, hands spanning across Sam's back to complete the circle.

The next day, without any note or any good-bye, they were gone.

WWW

The club was pumping.

Buy one get one free Wednesdays. The special: Cosmopolitans and Pink Ladies.

Dean already had four to Sam's two and it showed. Sam couldn't stop him from drinking them, though. The minute they finished one, two more showed up. Didn't matter that they were drinks a girl got drunk on. Alcohol was alcohol and everywhere they went, there was another appreciative Drag Queen buying them another round. Dean exchanged smiles. Sam tied messy bows. They had tabletops cleared away and before they knew it, they were seated right up front, just in time for the final act.

Sam looked over at his brother for a quick examination. Dean appeared pretty loose, not nervous or out of place. He picked up the dainty glass in front of him and sipped out of it like he was slurping one of his cheap beers. He slid one leg over the other, crossing them at the knee and rested a hand gently over the red silk covered chocolate box he had brought for their friend. Strummed his ring over the top of it. No price tag on this one but Sam had been there: $68. Used his own hard earned money, even. She probably wouldn't be satisfied, but it was a start.

The lights flashed above and music crashed around them. Sam turned his attention to the stage as the velvet curtain pulled up and she stood in front of them, tall and muscular, built like an Amazon. The spotlight illuminated her and she sparkled. Her eyes opened and she scanned the audience, her long curly hair cascading over her broad shoulders. She turned to her right until she found who she was looking for. Big, toothy smile. Recognition.

She opened up her mouth and she sang.

"_Looking out in the morning rain. I used to feel so uninspired. And when I knew I had to face another day. Lord it made me feel so tired."_

When they had stayed with Eva those twelve, thirteen days, she told Sam something he would never forget. It was over an English Muffin and some flavored coffee. "Dean is going to get there, Sam, he really is."

Sam nodded once, fidgeted in his chair.

"He's come so far already. He even changed his attitude toward himself. Toward… others."

Suddenly not hungry, Sam put the muffin down and raised his eyes. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. "You." Because of course it was her.

A smiled bended her lips and she patted his hand. It was warm. "No, Sam. You."

"_Before the day I met you, life was so unkind. You're the key to my piece of mind."_

They had returned to the club on one condition: Sam was not allowed to tell Eva of Dean's deal. A few months had gone by since they had been at Knuckers and been right up there on that very stage. And a lot of things had happened. Like, Sam had been saved. He'd been stabbed in the back and had died. And then his totally awesome, totally stupid brother had the brilliant idea to sell his soul to bring Sam back from the dead. He'd changed the course of both of their lives. And deaths.

But that was all a secret. Eva wasn't to know.

Sam's eyes skated to his left. Dean was six drinks down, head back, body swaying with the rest of the audience screaming, "You make me feel… You make me feel… You make me feel like a natural woman!"

He had to let it go. At least for tonight. He and Dean were dancing on the edge of darkness and neither one of them knew how rough the fall was going to be. Sam downed his Cosmo and glanced back up at the stage.

Eva was a star and they had saved her. Sam smiled and saw her smile back. _Huh_, he thought, _the Queen has dimples_.

WWW

A funny thing happened after the show that night, Dean and Sam went to the after party and they had a good time. There had been no ghosts to kill, no demons to summon, no worries about what the future was going to bring and if either of them would make it out alive.

No, this was just a normal, Drag Queen after party. And they had fun.

Eva had invited them back to her house, for the bed of course. And the breakfast. Dean kindly refused. He and Sam already had a motel room booked on the outside of town and they needed to get up and leave in the morning anyways. She was disappointed, but she understood. She placed an arm around a new friend's shoulder - Fonda? Dean couldn't quite remember but she made Eva smile. More importantly, their new friend was happy.

She gave them both a hug and asked them to stay in touch. They said they would. He knew when she looked behind her shoulder, though, that that would be the last time any of them saw one another.

The hotel was worse than their normal. It smelled of mold, only had two squeaky twin beds, and apparently the only running water was cold.

"We just need a few hours of sleep, Sam," Dean replied when Sam complained about the room. _Bitch_.

Two hours in a girl-drink-drunk induced sleep, he heard it. It started as a moan. Dean opened his eyes. He flexed his hands and wiped away the sleep. Everything felt numb. He slowly twirled to his side and had to wait for his eyes to be able to track. Clock said something-thirty. And then he focused on the lump sleeping on the opposite bed. Another moan.

Dean sighed and sat up. He placed two heavy feet down on the shaggy carpet and stretched his toes. It was a chore standing up and he'd lie later if he was asked if he made it to the bathroom without tripping. It was a son of a bitch walking around Sam's bed and into the one and only chair in the room. Stubbed his goddamn toe. But he made it to the sink and grabbed a washcloth from the towel bar. Gave it a good once over - looked clean - and wetted it down. He filled a plastic cup full of water and grabbed a couple of Tylenol.

Walking back into the main room, Dean grabbed the chair he had previously tripped over and dragged it over to the edge of Sam's bed. He quietly set the Tylenol and the water down on the bedside table and then sat back in the chair with a long sigh.

Every ass has a seat.

He held the washcloth in his hand. Sam whimpered and Dean knew it was going to be any minute now. His brother didn't dream of girls burning on the ceiling anymore. No. Now his dreams were about blood and Dean and being left alone in the world.

But they never talked about that.

Dean scrubbed a hand down his face. Tried to work the kink out of his neck. Waited and knew they would never escape this. And this would become that. And he hoped they were strong enough to survive whatever that would be.

Sam tossed an arm out wildly. His breathing increased and he let out a short scream.

Dean sucked in a sob. _It's not his fault._ Bit his lip hard to stop himself from breaking down. "Screw you, Dad," he whispered in the dark. Because Dean was going to save Sam. Even if it killed him.

Sam suddenly shot up like a rocket and Dean braced himself.

**Playlist:**

_Natural Woman_ performed by Aretha Franklin

-End- And, thanks for reading. I respond to all notes left to me!


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